


Make my own good home

by Squidbittles



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dad! Sid, Domesticity, HGTV, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Divorce, Rehab Addict (show) AU, Schmoop, Slow Burn, captain! Geno, pittsburgh love, we're bad at feelings but we're trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidbittles/pseuds/Squidbittles
Summary: At 27, Sidney's divorced, sharing custody of his daughter with his ex-wife, and has a reputation for renovating historic homes. He's just doing what he loves, but an audition tape he doesn't remember submitting to HGTV lands him a job offer in Pittsburgh. A few years later, it brings him the client that will change his life.





	1. Ready, able to make my own

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: Huge thanks to my HBB partner, masterpenguin, for the awesome banner and this, [baller mix](https://www.dropbox.com/s/f5cw6ohehf4suki/Make%20Your%20Own%20Good%20home.rar?dl=0).
> 
> Thank you so much to Becca, KC, and Marsh for the amazing work betaing my SUPER SLOW self, as well as your invaluable experience and advice. Y'all the real MVP.
> 
> Written for Hockey Big Bang and my unfailing love for Rehab Addict, which is definitely about rehabilitating old homes and not about being addicted to rehab centers.

 

 

 

**__**

 

**Part One** **_2014_**

 

Sid’s been renovating houses for seven years when HGTV comes calling. He’s been divorced for two years. His daughter is six. When he’d thought about where he’d be at 27...well. None of his plans were anything like this.

 

For a decent part of the conversation, Sid’s convinced Nate or Mike is pranking him. He gets complimented on the audition tape he has no memory sending in, on the quality of his work and the depth of his knowledge. He _thinks_ someone on the conference call compliments his ass, too, but surely he heard wrong.

 

It isn’t until he’s holding the paperwork they faxed to his home office that he remembers the video project Taylor had insisted he help with last year. He’d been working on the Thibault house in Mahone Bay - an old Victorian that was going to be an incredible B&B when he was done with it. Sid hadn’t thought anything of it past sharing his enthusiasm with his younger sister and making sure that she got a good grade on the project.

 

That may have been a mistake.

 

Sid’s got a week to decide if he’s going to root up the life he’s made for himself in Cole Harbour for parts unknown. The thing is, Sid likes his life here. He loves the Maritimes, loves the little town he grew up in, loves that he can go to the grocery and run into three people he either grew up with, skated with, or sold a house to. Amelia’s work is in Halifax, Victoria’s school is there, too. He’d never ask either of them to move, but, he realizes. He doesn’t have to. As friendly as they’ve remained, he and Amelia are divorced now.

 

He doesn’t want to give up the amount of time he gets to spend with his daughter, but he can’t deny the kind of opportunity he’s been presented with, either. He knows there’s a finite number of houses that he can afford to finance and renovate himself, and even though the market’s finally starting to pick up a bit, there aren’t enough jobs like the Thibault B&B where someone else is providing the funding.

 

Sid sets the papers to the side. He’s got to go pick up his daughter from her summer hockey camp, and no matter how “free” he might be legally, there’s no way he’s going to make this kind of decision without talking to those it’ll affect the most.

 

Victoria’s that particular combination of hyper and exhausted when he rolls up to Cole Harbour Place. Visibly drooping, she’s still flitting between friends and coaches trying to talk hockey, and he watches her almost trip over her gear bag in her excitement. Sid parks his SUV and hops out, thinking about the paperwork in his office and the way everything is about to change. He knows that he’s going to get caught in conversations with Coach Paul and some of the lingering hockey moms, and it’s a familiar and comforting part of his routine that he’s going to miss.

 

Tori spots him almost immediately, and for a heart-stopping second, he thinks she’s about to streak across the parking lot without even _looking_ , and he bursts into a jog just as she stops at the edge of the curb, remembering that she’s not supposed to cross streets or _parking lots_ without adult supervision. Sid scoops her up as soon as he hits the sidewalk, and she shrieks, delighted, but also _right in his ear_. He winces, and Paul gives him a sympathetic look.

 

“Hey sweetheart, you miss me?” he asks.

 

“Noooo,” she says, but she’s grinning widely, and Sid none of Sid’s plans involved being a divorced dad at 27, but he wouldn’t trade anything in the world for moments like this.

 

“No? Well that’s too bad, because I missed you,” he says, planting a smacking kiss on her cheek, followed by a gargantuan raspberry. She shrieks again, and Sid’s only vaguely concerned that the ringing in his ears might become permanent.

 

“Me too,” she finally admits, slumping against his neck and shoulder as the exhaustion hits. It reminds him of when she was younger, and Sid wonders how much longer he’s going to have before Tori decides that she’s too old for cuddling Dad.

 

“Sid!” Coach Paul greets him with a grin. “Always good to see you. This your week with Tori?”

 

“Hey, Coach. Yeah, I had to finish up some stuff at the Broward house this morning, so Amelia dropped her off, but I’ve got the squirt for the rest of the camp.”

 

“How many times do I gotta tell you to just call me Paul?”

 

Sid shrugs, but smiles. “Probably at least one more.” Paul had been _his_ coach, and it doesn’t matter that that was 20 years ago, old habits die hard. He’s always loved hockey, even if he couldn’t make a career out of it, and when Victoria had started making noises about playing, it had seemed perfectly natural to sign her up for Paul’s camp. “How’d she do?”

 

“Oh, the usual. Had to practically drag her off the ice.”

 

“I _love_ skating,” Tori mumbles into his shoulder, then squirms a little. “Daddy, lemme go, I wanna talk to Ava.” He lets her drop down, and she’s arrowing off towards another girl, whose mom is looking as harried as Sid feels.

 

Sid cuts a look at Paul. “That bad, eh?”

 

“Nah, not too bad. She liked the dryland routine once we got her off her skates.” Paul shifts a little. “She reminds me a lot of you at that age,” he says, like he’s not sure how Sid’s going to take it.

 

As much as Sid loves his home, there are some downsides to small-town life, and one of those is that everyone knows your business. He swears everyone from the kid at the Tim’s drive-thru to the clerk at Canadian Tire knows his custody schedule and what happened to the kid who everyone thought was going to be the next Gretzky. Everyone’s got their opinions about it, too, though thankfully they mostly keep those to themselves.

 

He’s not surprised when Paul brings it up, and mostly thinking about what might have been doesn’t even hurt anymore. He loves his work, loves restoring old homes, loves his daughter, loves his ex-wife still - though that love is a little different now than it used to be. He’s never wanted to be that parent that pushes their child to pursue their own unfulfilled dreams.

 

Still, he’s not going to pretend that hearing his daughter loves hockey like he did doesn’t warm a secret place in his heart. “Does she?”

 

“Well, she’s a little more selfish with the puck,” Paul adds, and Sid honks out a laugh at that. “She really loves the game, though,” he says, and Sid smiles.

 

“That’s all that matters, then.”

 

***

 

Despite the phone call hanging over his head and the contract waiting on his desk, Sid’s week with Tori falls into their familiar summer pattern. Sid makes waffles and eggs in the morning, drops Tori off at the rink, then heads into Halifax to keep working on the Broward house. He’s almost done - the early aughts had done a number on the Craftsman, tiling the floors and painting over beautiful wood detailing. He’s managed to salvage a surprising amount of original work - doors and hardware, some of the arched doorways - but most of it has had to be rebuilt, or salvaged from antique shops and junkyards. Sid’s had bigger projects before, but none where he’s had to add _back_ in so many original elements, or where he’s had to completely remodel an addition to fit in with the rest of the house, but still remain historically significant in its own right.

 

If everything goes well, he thinks he can finish up the Broward house in a few weeks. He’s got nothing else lined up right now, no other projects to turn his attention to.

 

He picks Tori up from camp, makes them dinner, makes sure that she’s working on her summer reading projects. When she’s done for the night, he lets himself get dragged outside to play goalie against the side of the house until it gets too dark for either of them to see. Sid’s exhausted by the time he tucks his daughter in at night, but so is she, and they both sleep like the dead.

 

On Friday, her camp is only a half-day, and Sid swings by during his lunch to catch the skating and scrimmage showcase. There are parents all around him, faces bright and beaming at their children, some sitting on the edge of their seat, some laughing, a couple yelling in a way that makes Sid remember all the things he _doesn’t_ miss about hockey.

 

He cheers when either side scores, tries not to be too loud when Tori has the puck, or when she scores, and tries not to get pissed when Jaxon’s mom boos, or to smirk too much when Tori’s team wins. He makes small talk with the other parents while his little girl says goodbye to her friends, then takes her out for ice cream, like she isn’t still wired enough on post-game adrenaline.

 

It’s an over-indulgent day, and Sid should probably chill, but he can’t stop himself. Together, they pick out new fabric for the window seat cushions in the Broward house, and Sid starts teaching Tori how to properly measure window casings.

 

Tomorrow, she’ll go back to Amelia’s for the week, and even though it isn’t as though they live that far from one another, they don’t tend to see each other much during off-weeks. There’s always an exception if either he or Amelia have something going on, but mom-week is for Amelia, and dad-week is for Sid, and they try to respect each other’s space and boundaries. If Victoria has ever been bothered by the arrangement, she’s never mentioned it to either of them.

 

If he takes this job - all of that will change.

 

“Dad! Daddy! Look!” Tori’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and she holds up the notepad he’d handed her, now covered in scribbled numbers and what he’s fairly certain are cats. Or horses. Unicorns?

 

“Alright, squirt. Let’s take a look.” He starts checking her measurements, and decides that he’ll invite Amelia to dinner when she comes to pick up Tori tomorrow. They can talk it over as a family then.

 

***

 

Sid’s job isn’t one where he’s beholden to a strict 8 to 5, Monday through Friday schedule, so he takes Saturday off so that he can spend a little more time with Tori, and knows that he’ll make up for it with some later days next week.

 

It means he gets to take Tori out for lunch and a matinee movie, and if she picks up on the way he’s spoiling her, she doesn’t let on except that she’s maybe a little more inclined than normal to randomly hug him or hold his hand when they’re out and about. Amelia shows up at 6:00 on Saturday, ringing the doorbell and knocking.

 

“So what’s for dinner?” she asks once Sid’s let her in.

 

“I gave you a key for a reason,” Sid says instead. “You don’t have to knock.”

 

Amelia shrugs. It’s an old, worn out refrain, and they both know that as familiar as they are, they’re both always going to knock.

 

“Mooooooom,” Tori’s a blur as she brushes past Sid in a valiant attempt to take her mother out at the knees. Warned by years of experience and Tori’s enthusiastic banshee-wail, Amelia absorbs the hit and rolls with it, hand coming to rest on the back of Tori’s head.

 

“Hi, sweetheart. I missed you too.” Her voice is soft and fond, and Sid realizes with sudden clarity that he doesn’t really miss that tone being directed at him, not like he used to, anyway. There will always be a special place in his heart for Amelia, but it’s never going to be like it was when Victoria was born. So gradually that he hadn’t noticed it, the ache in his chest has faded.  

 

Sid smiles as Amelia penguin-walks her way into the kitchen, Tori giggling and still barnacled to her legs. “I was think we could do chicken and KD?” Amelia gives him an unimpressed look. “I swear we didn’t eat Kraft dinner for the whole week. You know I can cook.”

 

“Mmhm,” Amelia says, but there’s the faintest smile at the corner of her mouth.

 

“Besides, someone offered to help make dinner, but there were some stipulations, huh, squirt?” He pokes at Tori with his big toe, which sends her into another giggling fit. He crouches down. “You ready to do this?”

 

“Yeessssss,” Tori says, finally detaching herself, only to fling herself at Sid. He swings her up and around before setting her down on the countertop. He gets out the pasta pot and puts it in the sink, and Tori turns the faucet on. Chicken and vegetables out of the fridge next, just in time for Tori to announce, “Done!”

 

“Rock on, kiddo.” He starts the pot to heating, and by the time he’s started preparing the chicken, Amelia’s handed off carrots to Tori for peeling and has started working on a salad. It’s a familiar Friday night routine, one they’ve done a hundred times before, but it feels different to Sid this time around. Everything feels different.

 

Dinner turns out well - sauteed chicken and salad, with Tori’s favorite KD on the side. Sid’s never claimed to be a chef, but it’s good and filling, and the chicken isn’t dry, which is honestly his baseline for “good job on dinner.” They make it all the way through dinner and nearly to dessert when Amelia finally starts to pry.

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate free food, but what’s with the meal, Sid?” Where Tori may not have picked up on Sid’s mood, he knows Amelia did almost immediately.

 

He doesn’t know if Tori spilled the beans about their indulgent day out when he wasn’t looking, or if it was the way the living room is the kind of mess that says they’ve been eating their meals there. Maybe it’s just that after all the years, Amelia still knows him far too well.

 

Sid smiles crookedly. “I can’t cook for my two favorite people?”

 

Amelia takes a sip of her iced tea. “Sidney.”

 

He sighs, fidgets. Every practiced word he’s considered over the past week flies out of his head. “Well, I wanted to talk to you...to you both about some, uh. Potential changes.” Amelia’s eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline. Next to her, Tori’s face is almost a perfect mirror of her mother’s. It’d be funny if Sid didn’t feel like his stomach was twisting into knots. “I got a job offer from HGTV.” He says it all at once, words tumbling out before he can second guess himself.

 

“What!? Sid, are you serious? That’s incredible!” Amelia _beams_ at him from across the table. “What do they want you to do - is it your own show?”

 

“Ah, yeah. They’re wanting me to do a series on rehabbing and renovating historic houses.”

 

“Sid, that’s perfect!” Amelia’s eyes narrow. “So why are you freaking out about this?”

 

Once again, Sidney laments how well she knows him. “I’m not freaking out,” he mumbles.

 

“Well, you’re not happy. I would have thought you’d be ecstatic about an opportunity like this. Is there some kind of catch?”

“The catch is that they want me to move to Pennsylvania to do it. Pittsburgh, specifically.” He doesn’t want to look Amelia in the face, but that leaves him looking at Tori, whose expression wavers between excited and confused. He wanted to comfort her, but he’s not sure what to say that won’t ring hollow. When he finally looks back at Amelia, he can’t read anything from her face, and he feels completely adrift in his own kitchen.

 

“I think you should do it,” she says finally.

 

“Tori, what do you think?” Sid asks, turning his attention back to his daughter.

 

Her face scrunches up. “Pittsburgh?”

 

“Yeah, honey. It’s in the US.”

 

“I don’t wanna move,” she says, mouth inching into a frown. Of the responses he was preparing for, that definitely wasn’t one of them. Sid’s chest hurts, and he can’t believe he’s contemplating leaving his little girl.

 

“Sweetheart, we wouldn’t be moving, just Daddy. We’d stay here with your friends and your school,” Amelia says, and he gives her a grateful look.

 

Her face clouds even further, arms crossing over her chest, and that’s a stance Sid’s more than familiar with. “I don’t want you to go,” she says. Sid can see the wobble starting in her chin, and his heart breaks a little bit to be the cause of it.

 

“It’s not going to be forever, squirt, I promise. And with the way my new job will work, I’ll be able to come up and visit you all the time.”

 

With that face, he’s expecting a complete meltdown along the lines of the Puppy Incident of 2013, but instead, they’re faced with silence. Even presenting Tori with dessert - the chocolate chip cookies Sid had made for just this occasion - doesn’t break her stony facade.

 

She still eats her allotted cookies, though.

 

They don’t bring up Sid’s career change again, but as the evening draws to a close, Tori is still quiet. He’s not sure what to do with the awkward silence. He wants to promise her that he’ll never leave, that he won’t take the job, but he can’t do it. As much as he’s worried and stressed by the prospect of uprooting his life in Cole Harbour, he can’t deny that he’s also excited by the prospect - that he _wants_ to take this opportunity.

 

By the time Amelia starts making noises about heading home, he’s almost relieved. He needs some alone time to try and regain his equilibrium, to work through his conflicted feelings. Sid walks them both to the door and makes sure Amelia has the leftover cookies with her. She rolls her eyes fondly, but they both know that Sid will eat them all if given half the chance, and he’d rather not go down that road right now.

 

“You’re gonna be good for your mom, yeah?” Sid asks, kneeling in the doorway so that he’s nearly face to face with Tori. She nods, but doesn’t say anything, and Sid tries to keep the disappointment off his face. He holds his arms out instead, and doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Tori’s hugging him fiercely, little arms tight around his neck. “I love you so much, Tori,” he whispers against her hair.

 

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

 

His neck feels a little damp, but he doesn’t mention it, just lets her pull away at her own pace. “Have a good week, squirt.”

 

“Mmkay,” she mumbles, finally releasing his neck. Sid stands from his crouch and meets Amelia’s gaze.

 

“We’ll have coffee Monday, yeah?” she says. “Talk this out a little more?”

 

Sid sighs quietly. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. Text me a time.”

 

She gives him a little wave after Tori’s buckled into the backseat, and Sid stands there in the doorway long enough to watch her taillights disappear around the block.

 

***

 

Monday rolls around and while Sid feels a little less frayed around the edges, he’s not much closer to a final decision. Amelia texts him around 10 to see if he’s free. Sid looks around at the Broward house and decides that there’s nothing that can’t wait for an hour or so.   

 

The coffee shop she picks is within walking distance, so Sid leaves his foreman in charge and starts walking. It’s a cute spot - Sid recalls having driven by it a few times, but he’s never actually stopped in before. He doesn’t see Amelia yet, so he goes ahead and hops into line and orders his guilty pleasure drink - medium hot chocolate with a shot of butterscotch, extra whip. He grabs an out of the way window table and has started to make a dent in his drink by the time Amelia shows up, looking a little frazzled.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” she says once she’s gotten her drink. “I had to wait for Shannon to get back from her smoke break.”

 

“Oh, it’s no big deal - we could have waited until lunch -” he says, feeling guilty. He should have thought to suggest that earlier. Amelia’s schedule isn’t nearly as flexible as his.

 

She rolls her eyes. “It’s _fine_ , Sidney. I wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t get away. Besides, I needed an excuse to get out of the office or I was about to lose it. We’re wrapping up the fiscal year and I want to tear my hair out.”

 

He sighs. “If you’re sure.”

 

“I _am_ . Besides, too late now. And you’re _not_ getting out of this conversation, even though I know you’d rather be just about anywhere else right now.”

 

“That obvious, huh?”

 

It’s Amelia’s turn to sigh, and a little bit of the tension in her shoulders goes with it. “Considering I can smell the butterscotch in your drink, yeah. Pretty obvious.”

 

“I’ve been lifting stuff all morning,” Sid says, defending the sheer amount of sugar he knows is in his drink.

 

“Not judging, just commenting,” she says, taking a sip of her black coffee.

 

“Mm.” Sid swishes his hot chocolate to mix up the syrup settling in the bottom. “So, you gonna let me have it?”

 

Amelia huffs a laugh. “You need to take that job, Sid.” Which was pretty much exactly what he was expecting her to say.

 

“But what about Tori? You saw her face last night - she barely spoke after I brought it up.” The argument he’s been having with himself since last week spills out before he can stop it. “I don’t want to leave her. Haven’t we uprooted her enough already? And this - it’s not what we agreed to when we got divorced. I don’t want you to have to raise her by yourself.” Even though Sid knows that she absolutely could, that she doesn’t really _need_ him. More selfishly, he doesn’t want Victoria to forget him, to think that he doesn’t love her as much as her mother does.

 

“Oh, Sidney.” Amelia reaches her hand out, but stops just shy of touching him. “I don’t want you to think I’m being callous, or that I don’t understand your concerns, but I _am_ worried that you’re going to let this chance pass you by, and that you’re going to regret it. Or worse, that you’re going to look at us one day and wonder if we held you back.” She sucks in a breath. “ _I_ don’t want us to be your obligation. I didn’t want that when I first got pregnant and I don’t want that now.”

 

“I would _never_ -” Sid feels like he’s been slapped and he’s not sure if he physically recoils or if it just feels like he did.

 

“I know, but - this is…” She sighs. “Opportunities like this don’t come around more than once, Sid. This is more than just another job - this is your _passion_. I’m not worried about Tori hating you or not being able to handle her. Both our parents are nearby, I’ve got a support group, and I’ve never worried about you just...skipping out on us.”

 

“I don’t want her to think that I’m abandoning her, or that I don’t love her,” he finally admits. “I don’t want her to hate me. Or forget me.”

 

“Sidney, she’s not a goldfish. She’s a very intelligent child, and she loves you very much. That’s not going to change unless you, you know, do something to the contrary.”

 

“Of course I wouldn’t - I meant it when I said I’d come back whenever I could, and,” he pauses. “Maybe she could come down and visit?”

 

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with school - of course.” Amelia frowns and picks at the cardboard sleeve on her cup. “You don’t think I’d actually try and take her away from you, do you?”

 

He can’t say that he’d never worried about it. Back when Amelia had first asked for a divorce, it had been one of the first things he’d thought of. But he knows better now, knows that his fears are founded mostly in his own insecurities. “Of course not, Amelia.”

 

“Then it’ll be fine.” She gives him a little smile, one he’s seen hundreds of times over the years. “Look, if it were me? If this were my dream job? What would you tell me to do, Sid?”

 

He remembers her giving him that smile after he’d signed their divorce papers. “I’d tell you to go for it,” he says, finally. He scrubs a hand over his face. “It is only supposed to be a short series. It’s not like it would be a permanent move or anything.”

 

The paperwork had outlined a “season” on the order of 10 episodes on a massive, prominent property that they’ve already got in mind. He can do this. Sid drains the last of his hot chocolate and gets a mouthful of pure sugar for his troubles.

 

Amelia reaches across that last inch or two of space to cover his hand. “Obviously, it’s your decision, but I think you should do it. We can make this work, Sid.”

 

For everything they’ve been through together, they’ve always been able to trust each other. He knows that Amelia wouldn’t bullshit him about this, especially not when it affects not just them, but Victoria as well. And...Sid wants this job. For as much as he’s struggled with the decision, he _wants it_ . It’s a new challenge, a new opportunity - he’s _excited_. He twists his hand, palm up, and squeezes Amelia’s hand briefly.

 

He faxes the signed paperwork back before lunch.

 

***

 

Sidney arrives in Pittsburgh at the beginning of July with a six year old in the backseat of his Suburban and hauling a trailer full of his worldly possessions. It was a move made as much to reassure Victoria that he wasn’t abandoning her as it was to soothe Sid’s raging guilt. While he knows it’s not going to be the easiest to move to a new country - a new city where he doesn’t know anyone with his daughter, there’s a part of him that’s excited to start this new chapter of his life with together with Tori - something that just the two of them can share.

 

They spread the twenty hour drive out over four days. It’s much slower than Sid would have pushed if it were just him, but five hours in the car is starting to push it for Tori, and there are only so many times that Sid can hear the theme song for Daniel Tiger before he loses his mind. To keep them both sane, he stops a lot - rest stops, roadside stands - if he catches sight of a historical marker, he pulls over. Even if Tori doesn’t get much out of the history he reads to her, she enjoys running around.

 

Every pit stop and weird motel, even deliberately taking the long route around - it’s all worth it for that moment when they drive out of the Fort Pitt Tunnel for the first time. Sid’s trying to keep an eye on his GPS and maintain his lane, but he has to suck in a breath at the city appearing before them, rising like magic from the rivers - beautiful and full of promise.

 

Tori’s gasp comes a moment later. “ _Daddy_ , look at all the bridges!”

 

Promise, and bridges. Sid grins to himself. He can do this.

 

Nearly forty minutes later, he’s gotten them so turned around on bridges and one-way streets and construction zones that he’s hopelessly lost and despairing of finding anything ever again, much less their hotel. He gives in when Tori starts getting restless in the back and calls Susan, who has been his point of contact for this whole process, and once she’s gotten him carefully navigated to their hotel parking lot with small words and an excess of patience, Sid lets himself feel that glimmer of hope again. They check-in to their hotel and stay long enough to dump their bags before Tori’s ready to be out of a confined space.

 

They walk until it’s time for dinner - or Sid walks, and sometimes Tori walks with him. PNC Park is across from their hotel, but there’s no game, so they stroll along the river until the shadows start to fall, and Sid turns them back around and starts hunting for some kind of dinner.

 

When they finally return to their hotel, they’re exhausted and full, and Tori is more asleep on Sid’s back than she is awake. He gets her pajamas on and her teeth (mostly) brushed before tucking her into one of the queen beds. It nearly swallows her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She just curls up with her stuffed dog and passes back out. Sid pulls the covers up a little more and goes to get ready for bed himself. It’s a good start, he thinks.


	2. Make a decision with a kiss

**Part Two** **_2019_ **

 

Sid circles the airport for the third time just fast enough to keep the minivan behind him from running all the way up his tailpipe. He acknowledges that he probably should have just gone ahead and parked in the hourly lot, or even sat in the cell lot when Tori had first called him. _Surely_ she must be through customs by now - then again, he’d thought that on the last two passes. The minivan lays on the horn, and Sid grits his teeth and pastes on a smile as it passes him.

 

He gives up and arrows over towards the hourly parking lot.

 

It ends up being for the best, since he gets a text ten minutes later, _Sorry!!!! Almost done i swear_.

 

Sid shifts from foot to foot and adjusts his baseball cap from his spot just outside the security checkpoint area. He’s never sure if he’s being too self-involved thinking that people will recognize him in public - it’s not like he’s an athlete or something. But it happens _just_ often enough in his adopted city that he still tries to keep a low profile. It’s not really a problem when he’s out and about for normal stuff, but he’s found that if he’s in one place for very long and someone recognizes him, then it starts kind of a snowball effect.

 

Generally, he doesn’t mind. Pittsburgh seems to love him as much as he loves it, and people tend to be respectful, but sometimes he’d just rather not go down that path. Especially on a day like today, when he just wants to pick up his daughter and head home.

 

All in all, he’s waiting for another thirty minutes before he finally spots Tori dragging her carryon and weighed down by a messenger bag that Sid swears has to weigh almost as much as she does. She catches sight of him before he can wave, and her whole face lights up, tired but happy.

 

“Daaaad,” she huffs it out, grinning as he goes to meet her, pulling her into a hug, messenger bag and all.

 

“Hey squirt. I missed you.” Sid feels like his face might split open from smiling.

 

“You just saw me like a month ago,” she mumbles, every bit the exasperated, vaguely embarrassed eleven year old he remembers from Christmas.

 

“Too long,” he says, finally pulling back. He goes to ruffle her hair, but remembers the fallout from the last time he did that in public and refrains.

 

Tori looks like she knows exactly what he was about to do, and she grins a little. “I missed you, too,” she admits. “But also I’m starving.” She eyeballs the Starbucks sign over Sid’s shoulder.

 

“Starbucks is not food, but we can grab something on our way home. Didn’t you have a checked bag, too?”

 

“Oh, yeah, two. Um…” she looks around and Sid waits for her to pull up the flight number. “#4231. That way?” She points towards the baggage claim area and what he assumes is the Air Canada carousel.

 

He nods. “Sounds right. Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

It’s another fifteen minutes of waiting before Tori spots her black suitcase, handle wrapped in rainbow stick tape, followed closely by her gearbag. Sid scoops both up, and for a second he thinks Tori will protest that she can get them, but Sid just hitches the gear bag a little higher on his shoulder.

 

“Two for two. How about that food?”

 

Tori narrows her eyes, but just shifts her messenger bag into a more comfortable position and follows him as he heads towards the deck. “I want Primanti’s,” she says as they hit the icy open air.

 

“Of course you do.” He glances at his watch. “By the time we get there, they’re going to be super busy. Maybe a rain check?”

 

“But getting Primanti’s is what we _do_. It’s tradition.”

 

He doesn’t have to look at her face to know the looks she’s giving him. _Tradition_ is a powerful word between them, and he waivers. “True, but we’re also usually on a schedule. It’s a little different this time; we’ve got plenty of time to go whenever you want.” It’s maybe a little bit of a gamble bringing it up, but he wants her to see her move as a positive, not a negative. As her silence stretches, he wonders if his hopes had been way off.

 

He finally finds his car and gets her luggage loaded. “I’ll accept McDonald’s instead,” she offers, pulling herself up into the front seat.

 

One of the things that he knows he’s going to have to relearn how to do is pick his battles, Sid thinks. But for now, he’ll consider this one a win. “Deal.”

 

“Can I get an apple pie, too?”

 

“Don’t push it, kiddo.”

 

It’s easy for him to get caught up in his own excitement, in getting the opportunity to spend more than a weekend or a few weeks strung together in summer with his daughter. But Sid knows at heart that the move from Halifax to Pittsburgh isn’t going to be easy for her, even if it is the right move for her future.

 

Normally a pretty happy, involved kid, starting Grade 6 saw a drastic shift in Tori’s mood and behavior. He and Amelia had spent countless nights on the phone discussing her increasing withdrawal, wondering if they were just overreacting to their child starting the hormonal rollercoaster of life, but the final straw had been when she’d called Sid and informed him very quietly that she was thinking about quitting hockey.

 

When he came up for Christmas, they’d talked about it together, in the kitchen Sid had finished renovating scant weeks before Victoria had been born. She’d sat and told them about the bullying, the ostracization, about her frustration and anger and fear. About how hockey had been what she looked forward to, until she moved up to PeeWee and it all followed her onto the ice and suddenly it wasn’t fun anymore.

 

They’d decided to try a fresh start in Pittsburgh.

 

Sid looks over at Tori, who slammed back her Big Mac as fast a humanly possible and is now savoring her fries. It’s nearly dark this time, and she’s sitting in the front seat, not the back, but the lights of the tunnel still light her face the same way, and she still makes the same delighted gasp as they burst out of the tunnel.

 

Sid hopes they made the right choice.

 

***

 

The winter months are generally slower for Sid - he tends to focus on interiors, interspersed with bouts of exterior work when the weather cooperates. It means he’s got a little extra time on his hands for the first few weeks Tori is living with him, and he’s never been more grateful for that reduced schedule.

 

Sid hadn’t expected getting Tori settled in to be easy, but he hadn’t expected it to be so exhausting, either. Still, he’s cautiously optimistic. Her classes have been going well, and he’s pretty sure that her status as an international student has given her a leg up on making new friends. She’s even been making noise about going skating again, and Sid’s starting looking into local PeeWee teams that she could join next season.

 

All in all, it could be going a lot worse, and he knows that he ought to be grateful. Mostly, he wants more sleep.

 

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Amelia says during their weekly call.

 

“I just feel like I should be handling it better?” Sid says, sorting through a pile of reclaimed original tiles.

 

Amelia laughs a little. “Is she happy and healthy?”

 

“Yeah, I mean. It seems like she’s happier at least. Eating me out of house and home, so also healthy.”

 

“Then you’re doing great.”

 

“I’m just worried that I’m not going to be -” he stops, sighs. “That I’m not enough? You make it look so easy.”

 

“Sid, I had you nearby for years, and when you went to Pittsburgh, our friends and _both_ of our parents were still here to help. You’re down there pretty much on your own. Don’t be so damn hard on yourself.”

 

The front door slams shut, and Sid winces. “Is that mom?” Tori slings her backpack onto the kitchen table and makes a grabby hand for Sid’s phone.

 

“Thanks, Amelia. Hurricane Tori just swept through the door, so I’m going to put her on now.”

 

His ex-wife laughs, his daughter sticks her tongue out at him, and Sid hands the phone over with a fond eye-roll.

 

He gets started on dinner around 6:00, once Tori’s done on the phone and has started, begrudgingly, on her math. Halfway through cooking, his phone goes off. Sid frowns, wondering if it’s one of his contractors, but the name attached to the number is an old client instead.

 

“Sidney Crosby speaking, how can I help you?”

 

“Sidney? It’s Sergei Gonchar. I’m so sorry to bother you so late, but _someone_ insisted I give you a call immediately.” He sounds friendly, if a little exasperated.

 

Sidney blinks and turns the burner off underneath his pasta. He swears he can hear someone else in the background, trying to talk over Gonchar’s voice. “Um. Hi, Mr. Gonchar. What can I do for you?” He’s proud of the work that he does, and if anything goes wrong post rehab, he insists his clients call him first. The Gonchar house had been one of his easier projects, and one of his favorites thanks in part to Sergei’s friendliness and his willingness to get out of the way and let Sidney do his job, and Sid can’t imagine what might have gone wrong with it only a year after completion.

 

“Sidney, please. You’ve been in my home, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Sergei?”

 

“At least once more,” Sid says, smiling a little as he sandwiches his phone between his shoulder and ear. “Is there something the matter with your house?”

 

There’s a heavy sigh across the phone. “The _house_ is fine - it’s absolutely perfect...which is partially why I’m calling. I have a friend who’s looking for a new home. He’s _so in love_ with our house and your work that he wants you to hire you.”

 

There’s a squawk over the line that is definitely not Sergei, and Sidney blinks, tamping down on the urge to ask if this friend is drunk. “I, uh. That is very flattering, but I have a few projects in the works right now,” he hedges. He _likes_ Sergei, has enjoyed a few Penguins games courtesy of the man’s family tickets, but Sid’s been around long enough to know better than to blindly walk into a new project or a new client.

 

“Would you be willing to at least meet with us sometime this week?” There’s another muffled conversation again, and Sid can practically hear Gonchar rolling his eyes. “He is _quite_ insistent. And _rude_ , I apologize.”

 

“I, yeah. I’m sure I can find a time - would you mind emailing a few possibilities that will work for you...him?”

 

“I’ll find some times that work for the both of us and send them to you tomorrow - I wouldn’t dream of subjecting him to you alone - _would you shut up_ ,” he hisses, not bothering to cover the receiver.

 

Sid chuckles quietly. “It’s no trouble at all. Have a good night, Sergei.”

 

“Thank you so much, Sidney. And again, I’m sorry for the imposition. Good night.”

 

The line goes dead, and Sidney drains his pasta and mostly forgets about the call until the next morning, when he does get the promised email.

 

Gonchar - _Sergei_ \- has provided him several potential meeting times scattered over the next seven days. It’s fairly limited, but Sid doesn’t think he’ll have too much trouble fitting him into his schedule. He’s got the ability to be flexible.

 

He emails Sergei back, _Tomorrow at 1:00pm will work for me as well. I will see you at my office then._

 

***

 

With Sergei and his mysterious friend coming in, Sid sticks close to the office on Wednesday, spending the time following up on permits and paperwork for HGTV he’s been avoiding. He accidentally works through lunch and is deep in the original floor plans for the Dixon project when the door to his office opens, small bell chiming merrily.

 

He looks up to find Sergei in the doorway, and smiles, pushing away from his desk. “Hey Sergei -” He stops, swallows as Sergei friend follows him into the room.

 

Sergei smiles slightly, and Sidney _must_ be imagining the humor in it. “Good afternoon, Sidney! Thanks for fitting us in on such short notice. This is my insistent friend, Evgeni Malkin,” he says.

 

As if Sid doesn’t know who Evgeni Malkin is, Jesus Christ. As if _Sergei_ doesn’t know that Sid knows exactly who Malkin is. Sidney narrows his eyes at Sergei just a little, but the man’s smile only widens.

 

“Mr. Malkin,” Sidney finally says, trying to recover his wits. He holds his hand out, and Malkin’s palm is warm and firm in his grip.

 

“Please, call me Geno,” Malkin says, smile as warm as his handshake.

 

Sid can feel callouses he knows are from hockey because he used to have matching ones, and he has to swallow again to get his voice to work. “Um. Of course, Geno. Please feel free to call me Sid.”

 

“Sid - is very nice to meet you. Sergei tells me much about you, thank you for meet on such short notice.”

 

“It’s really no trouble at all; Sergei’s a friend and a good client. Please, uh, feel free to have a seat, both of you.” His office isn’t in the same pristine condition he keeps it in during filming, but the chairs are at least clear, even if his desktop isn’t, and both men sit as Sid scurries back behind his desk. “Sergei mentioned last night that you were in the market for a fixer upper? Did you already have a house in mind, or were you wanting my help finding a place?”

 

Geno stops his perusal of Sid’s office to meet his gaze. “No cameras? I’m expect a little.”

 

“Ah, no. It’s -” he’s never totally sure how to describe the television process to new clients, especially when he’s not sure if he’s reading relief or disappointment from them that they aren’t on going to be on television. “For the show, I don’t usually film any client interactions - it’s mostly just about the house remodels.”

 

Most of the time, he’s buying and rehabbing houses on his own, then finding buyers. The instances where he _starts_ with a client are fewer and further between. Some clients don’t mind being part of the television portion of his work - others are intensely protective of family and privacy; Sergei had prefered to remain out of the HGTV limelight. He wonders if Geno will be the same.

 

Geno flushes slightly, the tips of his ears going red. Sidney focuses his eyes on Sergei, whose smile is _really_ starting to make Sid nervous. “No, no. Is not a problem at all - just curious. I’m separate from my wife and media so crazy about it.” His grin is a little thin when he meets Sid’s eyes. “No camera is good.”

 

That’s...a lot for Sid to process, but he nods. “Of course. I absolutely respect your privacy.” He bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

 

He shrugs a little, “It’s okay. Thank you. You see why I’m need new house, though.”

 

“Of course. So you want my help looking for one, as well?”

 

“Yes. Please. I see Sergei’s house, see houses you do - best houses.”

 

It doesn’t take long for the three of them to hash out the details - bedrooms (four), bathrooms (four), standalone, but not too far out of downtown. Yard is required, he insists, and Sid remembers reading articles about Geno’s rotating hotel of Russian friends and family, about his own son, and Sergei’s daughters talking about “Uncle Zhenya.” It’s not going to be an easy order, but he thinks he can make it work. At least the budget shouldn’t be too much of an issue.

 

Sidney promises that he’ll start looking at listings and when Geno gives him his number because he’s apparently the worst at answering his email, Sidney doesn’t even blush.

 

All in all, he thinks, watching Geno and Sergei leave his office, it’s one of the weirder Wednesdays he’s had.

 

***

 

Sidney spends the next few weeks hoarding listings he thinks might work for Geno. Working around his own schedule and the Penguins’ schedule proves more difficult than he thought it would be, and he finds himself texting Geno at odd hours of the night with potential houses just to keep things moving. It’s easier to think about it strictly in work terms, even though their texts don’t always stick to business.

 

Sid might be guilty of being the one that crossed that line first. It’s not his fault that he’s looking at listings while watching the Pens play the Devils one night. He texts Geno two more possibilities, knowing that he’ll take a look once the game’s done and he has a moment. The text sends right as Geno barrels between the Devils’ d-men and sauces the puck five-hole, pulling the Pens into the lead.

 

“Holy crap!” Tori’s sitting on the edge of the couch, homework almost completely forgotten.

 

Sid doesn’t bother trying to call Tori on her language - in part because he knows she’s heard worse from him and at school and - _god_ \- at the rink. Also, his mouth has gone completely dry, and he’s typed out and sent, _SICK goal, Geno!_ before he can stop himself.

 

It seems to open up the gates on their texting, and Sid has a hard time regretting it.

 

Slowly but surely, they put together a list of potential properties, and Sid begins lining up showings once Geno confirms for one of his off days. He doesn’t generally agree to show too many houses at once, but Geno’s insistent on seeing as many as they can schedule in one day, eager to vacate and sell his old house. He seems to think that because he found his first house almost immediately, that that luck will transfer over to this one.

 

Sid had tried not to cringe when he heard that. But hope springs eternal, he supposes. On a Thursday morning in late February, Geno leaves his zippy little sportscar parked in the deck a few blocks over from Sid’s office and meets Sid in front of Starbucks.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Malkin,” Sid says. He’s ridiculously bundled up, and Sid tries not to laugh as he hands over a coffee.

 

Geno’s face lights up as he takes the coffee. “I’m tell you, call me Geno. How many times I tell?”

 

Sid smiles a little. “Probably at least once more.”

 

Geno rolls his eyes, but thanks Sid warmly, and Sid hopes that the bite of the winter wind will cover up his blush. It’s a short walk to Sid’s SUV, and Sid takes a moment to just...enjoy the walk, the way Geno’s arm keeps brushing against his. It’s _nice_ , and he carefully ignores how warm his face feels.

 

Once he starts the car and gets the heat going, Sid pulls out his phone. He’s planned ahead, programming all their properties into Google maps to make sure he has the most optimal route between viewings. He pops it into the phone mount and throws the car in reverse.

 

“Busy,” Geno says, leaning over to look at Sid’s phone. The top of his head is right in Sid’s face, and he keeps getting whiffs of Geno’s shampoo as he tries to pull out of his parking space without anyone dying.

“We’ve got a lot to do today,” Sid says, concentrating on narrowly missing the back bumper of some jackass’s H3. He finally clears the car and gets them into traffic before glancing over at Geno. His tongue is sticking out between his teeth as he looks at Sid. “What -”

 

“You make face when you back up,” Geno says with a laugh.

 

There’s no wind to hide the flush on his cheeks this time. “I can’t help it,” he mutters. “I was concentrating.”

 

Geno doesn’t say anything, but he does keep grinning to himself in between sips of his coffee. Sid’s not always the greatest with one on one small talk - he’s pretty personable, but most of the stuff that he films for the show is scripted beforehand. He’s working up the nerve to talk about _something_ , anything that’s not the weather when he realizes that the silence is actually kind of comfortable.

 

The GPS takes them past the East End and into Swissvale, and the house they pull up in front of has Geno craning his neck to see the roof. Sid grabs his padfolio from the backseat as Geno gets out.

 

“Tall,” he says.

 

“The original house is 3 stories, plus the basement, built in 1918. They stuck on a first floor addition around 1970 that we could do something with. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms -”

 

“ _Sid_ ,” Geno starts, mouth twisting.

 

“I told you that many original bathrooms was going to be a tall order,” Sid cuts him off. “Just trust me, okay?”

 

He’s not sure how to classify the look that Geno gives him then, eyebrows almost completely hidden under his toque. But he nods after a moment. “Okay. I’m trust. Let’s look.”

Sid exhales and punches his code into the lockbox. “Thanks, Geno. Just, uh. Also keep an open mind.”

 

It’s not even close to the worst house he’s been in before - all the carpeting and walls are intact, nothing smells of anything other than a little bit of must - there isn’t even any wallpaper on the ground floor. There are at least 3 walls of mirrored glass that he can see from the front door though, which is usually enough to make most buyers flinch. Geno shuffles in behind him, and makes a noise in the back of his throat.

 

He doesn’t look back, just starts going through his spiel. “So on the first floor, we’ve got the living and dining, as well as the kitchen, which has been remodeled, but we’d be redoing it anyway. The carpet’s gonna go - generally there will be hardwoods underneath in a house this age. We will obviously be getting rid of the mirrors-”

 

“I don’t know Sid, what if I’m want to keep?” Geno stops in front of one set and flexes, coat and all. It’s a cascading image of ridiculousness and Sid can’t help the braying laughter that escapes.

 

They look at the rest of the house that way - Sid laying out what he could do renovation wise and Geno making sly comments that have Sid struggling to maintain his already thin professional veneer.

 

“I know it doesn’t have quite the right number of rooms you were looking for,” he says, locking it back up. “But with the price being what it is and your budget, I don’t think we would have any issue adding a second or even third story to the addition and integrating it all into the main structure.”

 

“Hm,” Geno says, looking back up at the house from the sidewalk once more. “Not quite? But we see.”

 

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm as they cross the Mon and look at a place in Munhall that Geno seems much less enthused about despite it being a little less work. Then it’s over to a tucked away neighborhood that Sid wasn’t too optimistic about - about half the houses were newer or “updated,” and it lacked the Pittsburgh charm he’s come to love. He doesn’t think it’s what Geno’s looking for either, but he’d wanted to at least look at it.

 

“Why you show, Sid? Neighborhood so -” Geno makes a face as he climbs back into the car.

 

“80’s?” Sid offers.

 

“Bleeegh,” Geno decides.

 

Sid huffs out a laugh. “I _told_ you, but you wanted to see.”

 

“Why you listen to me? You’re the expert!” he asks, incredulous. They bicker back and forth as Sid takes them to the next house, and ostensibly, he shouldn’t be arguing with a client, much less one who happens to be his favorite hockey player, but Geno seems to be enjoying it as well, and for once in his life, Sid’s going to roll with it.

 

They make their way up the west side of the Mon, looking at a house built in 1901 that’s been updated in a way that makes Sid cringe. It would be an immense undertaking to restore it back it’s original state, but it’s on a great lot with a great view of the city. It’s also bright yellow, and has some kind of Cape Cod shingling going on that has Sid wanting to find the previous owners and shake them a little.

 

Geno seems pretty intrigued, but less than thrilled once they get inside. It’s very modern, walls opened all over the place and backsplashes so generic Sid’s pretty sure he’s seen them in Lowes. Geno side-eyes the double lofts.

 

“No?” Sid likes them in the abstract, but not as a part of this particular house.

 

Geno shakes his head. “My son still only two - maybe a little dangerous for him.”

 

“We could get rid of them,” Sid offers, but Geno’s look doesn’t clear up.

 

“No...I’m.” He frowns, clearly looking for the right phrasing. “It’s a good house - not worth tearing up so much work done when some family come by and love it how it is.”

 

Sid mulls that over for a moment and makes a mental note. “Alright, that’s fair, and that definitely helps.” He glances at his watch, and as if on cue, his stomach gurgles “Um.” He flushes a little, and Geno grins at him.”

 

“We stop for lunch maybe?”

 

“I, um. I was hoping to be done by now - I didn't want to take up all of your day off.”

 

Geno waves a hand. “I tell you, day is free. It's all yours, Sid.” Sid’s not sure why that statement is making him flush harder, but before he can protest, Geno barrels ahead. “Besides, I'm hockey player - can always eat. Maybe pizza?”

 

Sid gives Geno a look. “Why do I get the feeling that that isn't on your nutrition plan?”

 

“You don't know that,” Geno hedges.

 

“I've got a pretty good idea,” Sid mutters, because he remembers giving up his mom’s homemade cookies and 11:00pm trips to Tim Horton’s.

 

“Hm.” Geno’s face is speculative, and Sid wishes he had just kept his big mouth shut because there was absolutely no reason for him to object. What does he care if Geno goes and eats a whole pizza? It's not like he won't work it off.

 

“Pizza’s fine - did you have a place in mind?” He asks, a little desperate to change the subject. Geno doesn’t press the issue, but he does direct him to La Tavola Italiana.

 

***

 

They look at ten different houses, and Geno decides that none of them are right. He’s visibly disappointed by their lack of success, and Sid very carefully doesn’t say, _I told you so._ He’s got a list of things to take into account for their next batch of houses, and he’s got a good feeling about the second round.

 

Still, when they part in the late afternoon, Geno’s expression hasn’t cleared at all.

 

Sid swings by Tori’s school, then they pop into the grocery for dinner. He’s not proud of dino nuggets, but sometimes compromises must be made, including his own preoccupation and complete lack of dinner inspiration.

 

“Don’t tell your mom,” Sid says once he’s got them all on the pan. There’s at least tomato soup heating on the stove and lima beans in another pot.

 

Tori eyeballs him from the couch. She’s put on the Islanders game, and he thinks she’s taking notes in the spiral bound notebook that her math is supposed to go in. “I would never,” she says. “If I did, then I’d probably have to tell you what mom makes for dinner.”

 

“What? What does your mom make? _Spam_?”

 

“Can’t tell you,” she sing-songs, looking back at the game.

 

Sid huffs a breath and shoves the dino nuggets into the oven. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing your math?”

 

“Already did it in after-school. Science, too.”

 

“What about your reading?”

 

“Did it in math.” She’s still totally focused on the game, and Sid rolls his eyes. He knows that he should just be grateful that she’s doing her homework. They’d struggled towards the end of the last semester with Tori doing her assignments and actually turning in the work, and for all his loud sighing and pointed looks, Sid’s really happy that it hasn’t been a problem here. Even if he does feel like he’s got to be the one nagging her about it now.

 

He’s nominally keeping an eye on dinner, but mostly watching the game from the kitchen when his phone buzzes.

 

_Sorry for waste time today._

 

Sid bites back a heavy sigh.

 

_It’s all part of the process, Geno. I’ll have even better houses next time,_ he types. _I have a much better idea of what you’re looking for now._

 

_Maybe. Last house was easy tho_

 

Sid taps his fingers against the counter top, watching Tavares blaze through the neutral zone. He's not sure what reassurances to give Geno that he hasn't already said. He wants Geno to understand that this step is just part of the process, but he doesn't want to keep pushing him if an old rehabbed house isn't really what Geno’s looking for.

 

_Why do you want to do this, then?_ Sid presses send before he can change his mind. It sounds brash, accusatory, and he tries to prepare himself for a response just as acidic. With the easy way they've been texting, how comfortable they were looking at houses, it's been easy for Sid to forget that Malkin is first and foremost a client, that he's a multi-millionaire, the face of the Pittsburgh Penguins. He's not a _friend_ , and Sid knows that he's pushing it.

 

He's not even sure _why_ . He has other projects, other clients, the show - there's no reason he needs to...to... _court_ Malkin’s business he was only doing it as a favor to Sergei, anyway. Sid watches the typing bubble pop up once, twice, three times, but no texts actually come through.

 

“DAD! What's burning?”

 

“Shiiiiit,” Sid hisses as he turns the oven off. He'd been too distracted and hadn't set a timer for the Dino nuggets, and they're definitely pushing the boundaries of acceptably crispy. It's the tomato soup that's actually in trouble though, bubbling and burning onto the pan.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Nothing! Everything is fine!”

 

He forgets about his phone entirely in the aftermath of attempting to scrape soup off of a “non-stick” pan, and making sure that the nuggets are mostly edible. Dinner ends up being a little sad, but at least the lima beans turned out okay.

 

***

 

Sid finds his phone still on the counter in the morning. He notices it immediately, but ignores it in favor of getting his coffee brewing and breakfast started. He can hear Tori’s alarm go off upstairs just as the coffee pot finishes percolating, followed by the dull _thud_ he’s come to associate with her literally rolling out of bed.

 

She staggers downstairs fifteen minutes later, hair unbrushed but at least dressed in her school uniform. Last week, she’d kept insisting that her pajama pants were suddenly school regulation. He slides her two cereal boxes and the milk once she climbs onto her usual breakfast bar stool.

 

Tori blinks and grabs the frosted mini-wheats after a moment of deliberation. She pours herself a bowl, and Sid plates up his omelet and English muffins for the both of them. Neither of them are big talkers in the morning, which normally suits Sid fine, but he’s still trying to ignore his phone sitting on the counter.

 

“What’s on the docket today?” He ends up asking, mostly just for a distraction. Tori looks up at him, mouth full of cereal, still squinting like the kitchen lights are personally offensive to her eyes.

 

“Uh...school?” She says slowly, mini-wheats mostly chewed, like it’s a trick question. “We have...PE today?”

 

“That’s good, should be fun,” Sid says, cutting up more of his omelet.

 

“Maybe. Mrs. Williams said we’re gonna start a soccer unit this week. I was kind of hoping for floor hockey.”

 

“Hm. Did you want to maybe go skating this weekend?” Sid tries not to look like he’s too invested, because the last thing he wants to be is one of _those_ hockey parents, but Tori just nods.

 

“Yeah, I don’t wanna get rusty if I’m gonna start hockey up again.”

 

“I’ll check out some drop-in times, then,” Sid offers, and he lets Tori’s warm smile carry him through the rest of their morning routine. The bus pulls up at 7:00am, and Tori’s out by the mailbox waiting for it. She’d decided that while she was okay with Sid picking her up after school, riding the bus in the mornings was an absolute _must_ for fitting in. He’s not sure if that’s actually the case, but she hasn’t started complaining about it yet, and so Sid stands on the porch in the early morning cold, his second cup of coffee in hand and the porch light on against the last little bit of night until the bus comes.

 

He manages to wait until he’s done the dishes before _finally_ checking his phone, and he’s not sure how to feel when he sees a series of message notifications from Geno.

 

_Not sure how I say_

_Is history ...not jsut house._

_Commitment???? (((_

_Words hard Sid english WORST_

 

He’s sitting in his kitchen, smiling, and he’s not quite sure why. Sid think he can piece together what Geno means, and it feels like a missing piece of their acquaintance settling.

 

_Okay._ His fingers hesitate over the send button, and Sid bites his lip. _We can talk more about this later if you want_? He hits send as soon as he’s done typing and goes to take a shower.

 

_Ok thank you_ ))) sits, waiting for Sid as he towel-dries his hair. He’s not sure how to respond to that, or if he even should, so he just leaves it and gets dressed.

 

He spends most of the day at the Cupcake house - a Victorian he’s been working on for the past eight months. It’s one of the few that he’s worked with in Pittsburgh where he hadn’t been able to find anything concrete on the original builder or owners, so the crew dubbed it after uncovering the vestiges of sugary pink paint on the eaves. He’s in the final stages of the reno, and it’s easy to go ahead and lose himself in the finishing details. There’s the fireplace to restore still and he’s gotten the flooring in the kitchen done, but there’s still a remarkable amount of elbow grease needed to bring the original sink back up to snuff.

 

By the time he goes to pick up Tori, his head feels clearer somehow. He doesn’t think about Geno so much as he begins to turn his attention towards a new batch of potential properties while he’s making dinner. There aren’t any texts from Geno this time, and that’s fine. Obviously.

 

He and Tori are settled in on the couch with dinner - unscorched this time - when his phone finally buzzes. Sid jumps a little, and Tori shoots him a weird look. Sid ignores it. It can wait until after dinner, no matter what it is. It buzzes again a moment later, then once more, and Sid’s fingers itch to reach into his pocket and grab it.

 

“Dad.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Your phone’s going off.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Aren’t you going to get it?”

 

“I’ll look after dinner,” he says _super_ casually, poking at his broccoli. He’s not sure what to do with the look on Tori’s face, like she’s trying to figure out a particularly frustrating puzzle.

 

She shrugs a moment later. “Mmk.”

 

He should have known better than to trust that noise, because he’s halfway through his meal and the episode of X-Files that’s on when she pipes up with, “Are you seeing someone?” He has to spit out a half-chewed piece of chicken before he chokes on it. “Eeww, gross, dad.” She makes a face and Sid just stares at her for a second.

 

When it feels like he can breathe normally again, he says, “I’m - no? Why...what would make you think that, Tori?”

 

She’s the one left pushing her broccoli around this time, and he bites back the automatic urge to tell her to stop playing with her food. “It’s okay if you are,” she says instead of answering his question.

 

And, well. Sid hasn’t been celibate since his divorce, not that he would _ever_ discuss that with his eleven year old daughter, but he hasn’t exactly been in any long-term relationships, either. Or short-term relationships for that matter. And he hasn’t been on any dates at all since Tori came to live with him.

 

“I’m...glad that you’re okay with me dating,” he says finally. “But I’m not seeing anyone right now. What makes you think I am?” He’s genuinely puzzled and a little unsettled in a way that he can’t quite figure out.

 

She shrugs a little. “You keep texting someone? Like, a lot. Unless you’re texting mom? But you get this look on your face - I dunno. I just.” She screws up her face, and Sid kind of hates that, of all the things she could inherit from him, she seems to have gotten his inability to articulate _feelings_ . She’s really focused on Scully dropping her flashlight when she finally says in a rush, “I wanted you to know it’s cool, that I’m cool? I know you and mom aren’t getting back together, so you don’t have to like...hide...anything? For my sake.” She finally shoves her broccoli in her mouth. “ _Uh wanoo oo be ‘appy_ ,” she adds, mouth overfull.

 

Sid frowns, stuck between disgusted and touched that she’d reach out and push through her awkwardness to make sure that he knew she supported him. The broccoli mash was really unnecessary, though.

 

“Thanks, squirt. I promise that I’ll let you know if I start seeing someone, how’s that?”

 

“Acceptable,” she says, swallowing.

 

“And I’ll tell you _all_ about my dates - about holding haaaaaands and _hugging_ -”

 

“Ugh, Dad, please. One, that’s gross because you’re _old_ and two, I’m not five, cooties don’t scare me.”

 

Sid laughs. “Fair enough.”

 

They finish dinner and Sid drops their plates in the sink. He finally tugs out his phone while he’s in there, and sure enough, it’s Geno.

 

_Long flight (((_

_Florida hot already no time for beach_

_Find any houses for me yet?_

 

He feels his face flush a little, which is just. Silly. Whatever. He’d been expecting Geno to text him at some point.

 

_Just started looking_ , he types back. _Sorry about your flight._

 

His phone buzzes a moment later. _Is ok. Back tomorrow night late after we crush Panthers_

_Meet me for coffee maybe more houses? Sunday afternoon ))_

 

Sid blinks as he settles back onto the couch. He pops his laptop open, tabs upon tabs struggling to load. He’d been thinking about taking Tori to an open skate on Sunday morning, so that could work. He doesn’t generally like getting a sitter for her - she’s in that weird stage where she’s not _quite_ old enough to be left by herself for too long, but getting her a sitter is...tricky ego-wise.

 

He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating - he chalks it up to all the date talk Tori had brought up earlier, which is ridiculous. It’s just Geno. And it’s not like he _can’t_ bring her. She’s a great kid, and he can only imagine the look on her face when she sees that they’re meeting Evgeni Malkin.

 

“You’re making that face again,” his daughter says.

 

“I’m not,” he lies.

 

“You are! Just tell me who you’re textiiiiing.” She lightly kicks at his thigh, and he moves his laptop out of the way of her stabby little heels.

 

“A client,” he deflects, starting to smile.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Hey so, wanna go skating on Sunday? UMPC66 has a stick and puck session Sunday morning. If you were still interested.”

 

“I know you’re trying to distract me, but yes I would like that.”

 

Sid grins at her. “Awesome. And after, do you mind going with me to meet a client?”

 

“Is it the same one you’ve been texting?”

 

“Maaaaybe.”

 

She crosses her arms and gives him another look, one he remembers Amelia giving him more than once. “Hm. You’re being extra weird right now. But okay.”

 

“It’s…a date,” he says, and Tori’s eyes narrow. “A dad-daughter date!” Sid exclaims, grabbing her foot and tickling the sole.

 

She shrieks with laughter, and he’s maybe going to have bruised ribs, but it’s totally worth it.

 

_Let me know the time and the place, and we’ll meet you there._

 

***

 

Stick and puck is busy Sunday morning, but it feels good to get back out in a rink, especially with Tori barrelling her way onto the ice ahead of him. He misses the ice, years and years later, and although there’s nothing really keeping him from it, Sid never seems to find the time to skate on his own.  

 

“The _Penguins_ practice here,” Tori informs him as she sends a saucer pass his way. It’s a little forceful, but barely wobbles at all. Sid settles it and passes it back.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yep! Maybe we can come out for practice one day?”

 

Sid laughs and starts skating towards her slowly. Tori’s brow furrows as she starts skating backward. “We’ll see. You want to look at their schedule when we get back home? See if you can find a few practices we might be able to make that _don’t_ interfere with school?”

 

She sticks her tongue out and starts working on her crossovers.

 

They get kicked off the ice at noon, and Sid takes them home before their afternoon meeting. It’s as much to get lunch as it is to make sure that Tori’s sweaty gear isn’t stinking up the back of the Suburban longer than necessary.

 

Tori grabs a quick shower while Sid makes sandwiches and he glances at his phone. Geno had sent the time and location as asked, but he’d been uncharacteristically quiet otherwise, not even responding to Sid’s _Great game!_ It had been a loss, but Geno had put up a goal and an assist and Sid is adamant about giving praise where it’s due. Sid chalks the silence up to the loss and his traveling schedule, but he still wonders if he should text Geno again, just to see if he’s still going to meet them.

 

He shoves his phone back in his pocket as Tori comes stampeding down the stairs, and hands her her turkey sandwich.

 

***

 

Geno’s coffee shop of choice ends up being not terribly far from their little house. They roll up at 1:50 because Sid’s not going to be _late_ , and they’re both at the counter ordering when the little bell over the door chimes and Geno walks in. He’s got his face buried in his scarf, but there’s something pinched around his eyes that wasn’t there on Thursday.  

 

Sid catches his eye while Tori is ordering herself an enormous hot chocolate because she knows he’s gonna be a pushover about it. Geno looks like he’s about to come over, but Sid holds a finger up to his lips and nods down at his daughter, hoping Geno will understand.

 

His eyebrows shoot up, and Sid can tell the moment he starts grinning underneath the scarf. He claims a small table in the corner of the coffee shop, and Sid gives him a _super_ subtle thumbs up. Sid orders two coffees for them, and keeps an eye on Tori as she takes her hot chocolate from the barista, thanks her, and turns around. He’s honestly a little surprised that she doesn’t immediately drop her drink.

 

He is incredibly grateful for the fact that when she turns to him, eyes wide and clutching at the sleeve of his coat, she also manages to have the presence of mind to not pull hard enough that he spills his own coffees.

 

“ _DAD_ ,” she whisper-screams in what he is sure is meant to be a totally cool, totally not freaking out voice. “ _Dad I think that’s Geno Malkin_.”

 

“Hm. Maybe so. You wanna go over there and check?”

 

“ _What?_ NO.”

 

“I mean, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Sid adds, moving away from the pick-up counter. Tori looks up at him suspiciously. “I’m going over there.”

 

“Dad, _no_. Dad you can’t go - don’t - “ she hisses, but he’s already heading towards Geno, and she lingers behind for a moment before scurrying after him. At the table, Geno’s doing an admirable job of not bursting into laughter.

 

“Hey there stranger. Is this seat taken?” Sid asks. Geno nudges one of the chairs out with his foot, giving up and starting to chuckle. Sid drops into the chair carefully, and hands over one of the coffees.

 

“Always buying me coffee, Sid. Next time, _I’m_ get.”

 

He feels his face heat for no good reason, but he nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”

 

“And who is this?” Geno turns his attention to Sid’s elbow, where Tori is hovering, looking increasingly torn between irritation at Sid and awe at the presence of her favorite hockey player.

 

“This is my daughter, Tori. Tori, this is my client, Evgeni Malkin,” Sid says formally. Geno holds out his hand, and Tori shakes it, still looking a little off balance. “You going to have a seat, squirt?” Sid asks, patting the chair next to him.

 

Tori turns her gaze to him, and oh, Sid’s going to get an earful from an embarrassed pre-teen later, he just knows. He just hopes the surprise was worth it. “You’re a _butt_. A giant, embarrassing, dad-butt,” she stage-whispers, but she takes a seat. Geno chokes on his coffee.

 

Sid shrugs a little. He probably deserves that. “Guilty, I guess.”

 

“Tori, is nice to meet. I’m Geno,” he says. “You like hockey?” Sid doesn’t know _how_ Geno knows, but maybe he’s seen enough star-struck kids over the years to have a sixth sense about it.

 

“No,” Tori says, sipping her cocoa. “I _love_ hockey.” She leans forward over the table, and _that’s_ the self-assured daughter he remembers leaving home with this morning.

 

“Really?” Geno leans in too, cuts his eyes like he’s making sure no one’s listening. “Me too. You watch games? Play?”

 

“Yes,” Tori answers. “Both.”

 

They should probably spend some time discussing Geno’s housing situation, but Geno keeps asking Tori questions about hockey, and listening attentively when she talks about the Islanders game from the other night, and she even talks about her old team a little bit, which - Sid hasn’t heard her do since December. He’s oddly content to just sit and listen, and occasionally prod Tori to drink her cocoa before it goes completely cold. They garner a few interested looks from other patrons, but he thinks that Geno must frequent this place pretty often because everyone seems pretty inclined to just leave them be, and he once again finds himself grateful for Pittsburgh. Tori looks at him occasionally for confirmation about something she’s said, but she’s otherwise perfectly happy to carry on the conversation, and Geno shows no sign of impatience.

 

She’s mostly finished with her drink when she finally sits up and fixes Geno with a look. “So you’re looking for a new house?”

 

Geno blinks and looks between Sid and Tori. “I am.”

 

She nods. “Good. Dad is the best. He did our house back in Cole Harbour, _and_ he did our place here.”

 

He nods seriously. “That’s what I’m hear from my friend Sergei. It’s why I contacted your papa.” He looks up and meets Sid’s eyes, mouth quirked. “Sergei’s house is very beautiful - feels like home. I’m want that too.”

“That makes sense.” Tori slurps down the dregs of her cocoa. “Our house feels like that - you should come over and see for yourself.” She says it with the kind of casualness that Sid actively envies, even as his face burns with embarrassment.

 

“Tori, Geno’s schedule is very busy, I’m sure -”

 

“I would like very much,” Geno says, that little smile still dancing across his lips. “ _If_ your papa does not mind. Maybe I’m get some ideas for my house.”

 

“ _Dad_ . Dad, _please_ can Geno come over?”

 

It’s a singular kind of experience to see his daughter and his favorite hockey player giving him identical puppy-eyes, though Geno’s twinkle with mischief. “Yeah, Sid, _please_?” His tongue pokes out from between his teeth, and Sid knows he’s being played, but he’s finding it pretty hard to care.

 

“I guess Geno can come over, but only if you’re good and do your homework on time. Also, not today because we’ve got houses to look at.”

 

“That’s okay. Houses are almost as good as hockey. I get to go with you, right?”

 

Sometimes, Sid thinks his heart can’t get anymore full, but then Tori goes and says something like that, and he just doesn’t know how to handle it. He ruffles her hair gently, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course, squirt.”

 

***

 

Despite Tori’s enthusiasm and Sid’s more exacting criteria, their second round of searching doesn’t turn up the perfect house, either. Geno looks a little less despondent this time around, though, and Sid’s not sure if it’s because he did a better job with the options, or because of Tori’s near constant chatter, ping-ponging between the Pens’ season and all of the random house knowledge she’s absorbed from Sid over the years.

 

“I know we didn’t find ‘the one’ today,” Sid says as he parks next to Geno’s car. “But I’d really like you to take a look at the listings again. I think any of them are good options - and nothing’s going to be perfect as it is.”

 

Geno hums under his breath. “Maybe? House has to have душа - “ He frowns. “Heart? Is a feeling, Sid. I’m not expect perfect wallpaper in old house, but not right yet. I’m know.”

 

Sid bites his lip, because that’s a _lot_. “That’s - I hope I can find that for you.”

 

“Of course you can, Dad,” Tori says from the backseat. Sid smiles at her in the rearview mirror, and next to him, Geno unbuckles his belt. He knocks his fist gently against Sid’s resting on the center console.

 

“I’m look at list again because you ask, but Tori right. I’m know you can do it.” Geno’s smile is brilliant as he slips out of the passenger seat. “Bother you later, okay?”

 

“It’s not a bother,” Sid protests, far too distracted by the way Geno’s eyes crinkle and the wide stretch of his mouth. He’s so distracted in fact, that he misses Tori unbuckling her own belt until she’s scrambling over the console and into the front seat.

 

“You’ll come over soon?” She asks before he can shut the door. Geno’s smile goes soft and he holds out his fist.

 

“Of course,” he says, and Tori bumps his fist gravely.

 

He waits on the sidewalk until Sid and Tori back out of their parking space, and waves enthusiastically as they pull away. Sid catches him getting into his tiny sports car in the rearview mirror and feels - something. A house with a soul is a tall order for anyone, but Sid remembers the mischief and respect in Geno’s eyes as he spoke to Tori, the fondness in his voice every time he talks about his family and friends, his team. He thinks he understands what Geno was trying to tell him with those texts, and hopes that he can deliver.

 

Geno does bother him that evening, just after dinner as he’s digesting and eyeballing Tori’s math homework as she finishes up her social studies reading. He thinks in another year he’s going to have to start relearning how to do algebra if this is the kind of stuff she’s getting in Grade 6. He’s not bad at math - it’s an integral part of his job, but he’s never really connected with the kind of word problems they fling at kids.

 

It takes him a second to dig his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates against his thigh, but it’s Geno’s name lighting up his screen.

 

_Need more houses Sid._

 

_You looked them over again?_

 

_Yeeees but not right for me ((((_

 

Sid rolls his eyes but he’s smiling as he texts back. _I’ll keep looking_ . He hesitates for a moment, before adding, _Sorry we didn’t get to talk a lot today about your house search_.

 

_No! No need for sorry! Im like meeting tory cute kid! V smart, good hockey sense_ , he sends, adding a winky-smiley face.

 

“Say hi to Geno for me,” Tori says from where she’s curled up in one of their recliners. He hopes the warmth on his face isn’t noticeable in the relative dimness of the living room.

 

“I will. Have you finished your reading?”

 

“Have you finished my math?” she counters, looking back down at her book. Sid stifles a sigh.

 

_Tori says hi - I’m glad you two could meet today! You’re her favorite player and she had a really nice time._

 

_Whose your favorite player )))))))_

 

And that - Sid blinks. He has to be imagining that Geno’s tone is flirty. He has to be reading into it. Sid’s self-aware enough to know that he’s got a little bit of a crush on more than just Geno’s hockey, but it’s just that, a crush, and it’s a slippery path to start believing that Geno could reciprocate whatever it is lurking in Sid’s chest.

 

He bites his lip, knowing that he needs to respond because _not_ responding will make it weirder than if he just laughingly says, _You_. Before he can, Geno starts typing, and Sid tries to breathe as he watches the text bubbles pop up, then disappear, then pop up again.

 

_Is ok i know its me_ , Geno finally sends and Sid stifles a slightly hysterical giggle.

 

_Sorry, but it’s definitely Fleury_ , he replies and hopes for crisis averted.

 

He almost immediately receives a crying emoji in return and, _i know you lie but I’m tell flower anyway ((((_

 

It’s not flirting, he knows - it’s so easy to misinterpret tone over text, and he doesn’t doubt that he loses something in translation with Geno’s English, but their exchanges make Sid smile, even when they’re just about houses, and well. It’s nice to dream a little sometimes, as long as he doesn’t let it get out of hand.

 

***

 

It’s mid-March before they both have enough time for another round of house hunting, and Sid’s feeling confident that at least one of these is going to hit Geno’s criteria. He thinks that his idea of what gives a house “soul” might be different than Geno’s, but he understands the way a house can feel to a person, and Sid’s starting to understand Geno the person a little better every day. He wants to get a house locked down before the inevitable spring buyers rush, and armed with his determination and the kind of familiarity that comes from two months of near daily texting, Sid goes ahead and pre-screens the houses.

 

The first offering is a little further out than some of the others, closer to where Geno currently lives and for convenience, Sid ends up swinging by UPMC66 to pick Geno up after practice. He gets there a little early, and rather than wait in the parking lot, he heads inside. It’s a little surreal to be at the rink without Tori scrambling into her gear, but he makes do. Judging from the number of cars in the lot, practice is open to the public, and Sid tugs his ballcap down and quietly slips into the occupied rink and into the stands.

 

The team’s still running drills, and it’s surprising how quickly his brain sinks into the familiar patterns. He lets himself get lost in the back and forth, the sound of skates cutting through the ice, of sudden stops and laughter as someone gets snowed. He can pick Geno out of the group almost immediately, and it’s not just his height, but his stride - the way he skates across the ice far faster than anyone his size ought to be. It’s hard not to think about what might have been if things in his life had gone just a little differently - the Penguins had the first pick his draft year. He could have maybe been good enough if his wrist - well. There was no sense in ‘what ifs’ and Sidney had long since gone down that road and made his peace.

 

He’s focused on the ice enough that he almost misses the awkward shuffling behind him. As it is, he has a moment to compose himself before he hears a throat being cleared.

 

“E-excuse me, Mr. Crosby?”

 

He half turns to greet a young couple holding hands and looking incredibly nervous. “Hey there,” he says with a reassuring smile. The shorter of the two women looks like she might expire on the spot, and the taller shoots her a fond look.

 

“Hi,” she says, voice mostly steady. “We’re really sorry for bothering you, but we - we thought it was you? But we weren’t sure and Izzy and I are huge fans, so we thought we’d check anyway.” Her words run together a little, but she holds her nervousness mostly at bay.

 

“Your show is just...incredible, and it really inspired me to pursue my passion for design and you’re the reason we moved to Pittsburgh,” the shorter one blurts out, pushing her red hair back behind her ears. She sticks her hand out. “I’m Izzy, it’s nice to meet you, sorry again for interrupting.”

 

Sid feels himself flush because he’s heard a lot about how his show has impacted people over the years, but he never really gets used to it. “It’s nice to meet you, Izzy.” He shakes her hand, and then reaches for the other woman.

 

“Melanie,” she says. “It’s a pleasure.”

 

“So you guys moved here because of the show?” He asks before he can stop himself because for every thing he’s had people tell him, that’s a new one.

 

“Well, not only because of that?” Izzy corrects.

 

“But we started looking for work here because we sort of...fell in love with the city seeing it through your eyes.” Melanie looks down at Izzy and squeezes her hand.

 

And that’s - “ _Wow_ ,” Sid says. “That really means a lot to me.” His phone buzzes in his pocket, and Sid realizes a little belatedly that there are only a few guys left on the ice, and Geno’s nowhere to be seen. “I’m sorry, excuse me,” he says, pulling out his cell.

 

_You need rescue?_

 

And he doesn’t, not really, but it’s...sweet, and Sid smiles a little. _No, thank you. You almost ready? I don’t want you stinking up my car_.

 

_Mean )))_

 

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, knowing that he’s being rude, and turns his attention back to Izzy and Melanie. “Sorry about that,” he says, a little sheepishly.

 

Izzy beams at him, her initial reticence seemingly gone. “It’s fine - we don’t want to keep you, we just wanted to say hi.”

 

Sid stands and shakes both of their hands. “It’s really no trouble. I appreciate you stopping by and introducing yourselves. It’s - it’s really nice to know that doing something I’d do anyway has an impact on folks.”

 

Geno’s waiting for him once he gets outside, leaning casually against the driver’s side of Sid’s Suburban, soaking up the weak March sunshine. His hair is still wet, and he looks _good_.

 

He squints a little as Sid approaches. “What takes so long? Couldn’t get away from Sidney Crosby fans?”

 

Sid rolls his eyes. “They were really nice,” he says, unlocking the door. Geno isn’t moving, but his tongue is poking out of the side of his mouth distractingly. He’s close enough that he has to look up at Geno to meet his gaze, but Geno doesn’t seem inclined to move just yet. “You’re out here awfully fast. Are you _sure_ you showered?” He asks, even though he can clearly see way his shirt collar is a little damp, is close enough to smell his soap.

 

“I’m shower!” Geno protests. “You don’t believe? I’m show.” He moves then, too fast for Sid to dodge, and Sid finds himself in some kind of wrestling hold/bear hug, his face pressed into Geno’s chest, his nose stuck in Geno’s armpit. “So fresh,” Geno insists, laughing.

 

The thing is, he does smell good, _god_ , he smells really good, and Sid almost just lets himself stay in Geno’s not-quite embrace. Except that’s not what this is. Geno is his client, and Sid is getting dangerously close to pushing a boundary. He retaliates with fingers digging into Geno’s side, which gets him another laugh and Geno squirming against him in a bid to get away.

 

“Okay, okay!” He releases Sid, and Sid pulls away like he should, but he can’t resist skittering his fingers across Geno’s stomach and watching him flinch away again, still giggling.

 

“Are you going to let me get in the car now?” Sid asks, trying to keep a straight face. Judging from the look Geno gives him, he’s not doing a very good job of it.

 

“You tell me I smell and can’t get in car!” Geno gasps, mock-outrage on his face. “Say I’m smell good, and we go.”

 

He thinks about resisting, but they do have a schedule to keep. He opens his car door. “You smell very nice,” he says and he aims for sarcastic, but it still comes out a little too sincere.

 

***

 

The first two houses are a bust by Geno’s standards, but he's not as immediately dismissive as he's been in the past, and Sid gives himself a pat on the back. The third house had caught Sid’s eye initially because of the lot size - not quite an acre, still in the city, and tucked up on a wooded hill. He’s familiar with the neighborhood, has liked it since he came to Pittsburgh, and the lot isn’t all that far from his own house. He’d felt... _something_ walking up the drive that made him feel just a little reverent, and if this place had been on the market when he first moved to the city, he’s pretty sure he would have bought it immediately.

 

He’s nervous as they pull up to the house together, Sid realizes. He really wants Geno to like this one, and he thinks that if Geno doesn’t, that it’s going to be his next project now that he’s finished up the Cupcake house. Next to him, Geno makes a considering noise. They step out of the car together, and the sound of the doors closing echoes through the quiet of the secluded lot.

 

“Quiet,” Geno says, an eyebrow raised in surprise. The yard needs a lot of work, and though the outside of the house is in remarkably good condition, Sid knows the interior might be the scariest yet.  

 

“Mm, yeah. We’re actually a lot closer to 279 than you’d think from the noise. The trees muffle the sound and keep it very private.” They pick their way over loose gravel and stray cobblestones to the front door. “Try to keep an open mind,” Sid adds.

 

Geno grins a little. “You always say.”

 

“But I _really_ mean it this time.” Still, he can’t help but smile back at Geno.

 

The house is, quite frankly, a hot mess. Ancient wallpaper curls and peels along the entranceway, and the hardwoods had been covered with puke green shag carpeting sometime in the late 60’s that hasn’t been touched since. The woodwork that they _can_ see seems to be in good shape, though, and the tiling in the kitchen is original.

 

Geno doesn’t balk at the door, but he steps gingerly into the foyer like he’s afraid the floor’s going to give out underneath him.

 

“You not kidding,” he says, craning his neck to look up the staircase. “You sure this is safe, Sid?”

 

“The house is more than 150 years old. I think if it’s stayed upright this long, we’ll be okay to take a look around.”

 

“That’s not a yes,” Geno mumbles, but he steps in a little further, looking intrigued despite himself.

 

“To the right is the dining room and kitchen, to the left is the living room and a really nice sun porch,” Sid says, leading them towards the dining room. “There are a lot of original features still here - the wainscoting, the ceiling medallion - I think we could do a lot to just restore in here.”

 

“Is that water damage?”

 

Sid looks up. “Looks like, but it’s probably old. We’re going to have to go in and check out the inside of the walls anyway - I don’t think the last owners bothered to update the wiring, so we’d want to do that, maybe see what we could do to get central AC and heat if you didn’t want to keep the radiators. We’ll make sure that any leaks are old and that there’s nothing new to worry about.”

 

They move from the dining room into the kitchen, and Geno smiles and pokes his tongue out when he sees the tile. “No linoleum? It’s Christmas miracle.” His words echo Sid’s on countless episodes of his show, and Sid feels like his entire body is on fire.

 

“I hate linoleum,” he mutters because he’d _known_ Geno must have watched his show before, but the tangible evidence of it is devastating. Geno chuckles and squeezes Sid’s shoulder.

 

“I’m know. Floors surprising,” he says, one toe nudging the beautifully designed tiles.

 

Sid tries not to focus too much on the warmth of Geno’s hand. “Yeah, the tile is in great condition, and the bathroom upstairs has matching tile, too. It might be a little hard to match for additional bathrooms, but I think we can get something complimentary to the original ceramics.”

 

“Need new appliances, counters -”

 

“Yeah, the rest of the kitchen is a gut job. Someone took out the original cabinets in the -” he pokes at the cabinet detailing and makes a face. “Probably the 90’s. But I think the general layout is okay? We’d want to extend the cabinets and countertops, but unless you really want, I’d leave the stove and sink where they are.”

 

Geno _hmms_ and lets Sid lead him through another door into a little hallway that runs underneath the stairs and connects the living room to the kitchen.

 

“Now, we can leave this, but it might also make a good option for a half bath on the main floor if we close off the doorway to the kitchen and leave access from the living room, but it’s not our only option.”

 

The living room needs a lot of work, from the terrible carpeting to the three layers of wallpaper and the fireplace that’s been plastered over at least once, but it’s mostly cosmetic. Sid points out the sunroom, which is drafty and unpleasant with the exception of the amount of light that it gets.

 

“We can enclose this entirely and add it as part of the living room if you wanted, but it also gives you some extra space for entertaining,” Sid offers.

 

“I’m think Nikita like,” Geno says after a long moment, and Sid’s breath catches. He doesn’t think Geno’s ever said that about a house before.

 

They head up stairs, Geno creeping, and Sid stomping like he’s got a point to prove. There are three bedrooms, the lone original bath, and a “master suite” that’s been cobbled together from one of the rooms and what Sid easily identifies as the original dressing room.

 

“If you wanted to make some layout changes, I think upstairs is the place to do it. We can retrofit the dressing room into a really nice en suite that still fits in with the aesthetic of the house, and we can make sure that the sleeping porch is shored up properly and steal square footage from there to expand the master.” Sid knocks on the wall separating the master and the back bedroom and hopes that he’s not about to overstep a boundary. “We can use the rest of the porch to add another bathroom suite for guests or maybe Nikita when he gets a little older.”

 

Geno’s silent as they stand in the master bedroom, gaze fixed on one of the windows. The house is just high enough that he can see the top of the Pittsburgh skyline through the bare trees. Geno turns after a moment and Sid has to catch his breath.

 

The sun hits the dust motes they’ve kicked up from the nasty carpeting, and highlights the way Geno’s hairline is creeping backward. He smiles, wide and slow, and _oh_. Whatever feelings Sid’s been harboring since he met Geno have blown right past crush territory.

 

“Don’t need as much space for just me and Nikita,” he murmurs. “I want,” Geno says, louder, surer, and Sid blinks slowly because he’s not sure he’s parsing Geno’s words correctly. “You did it, Sid. House is perfect, let’s buy.”

 

Sid might be fucked.

 

“Y...you’re sure? You don’t want to see any other places? I’ve still got three more lined up before I need to go pick up Tori.”

 

“Nope.” Geno crosses his arms. “I’m tell you, I know when we find. It’s got a feeling, Sid.” He narrows his eyes a little. “Think you feel it, too.”

 

And well, Sid can’t deny that. He smiles a little sheepishly back. “I maybe would have bought it if you hadn’t liked it,” he admits, and that just makes Geno’s smile widen.

 

“See? Perfect and you already know.”

 

“Well,” he hedges. “I had a feeling.”

 

He’s not expecting Geno to tug him in close in a bear hug. “I tell you, _feeling_. Thank you, Sid.” Geno’s arms are tight, and Sid fights the urge to just melt into them.

 

“I mean, it’s what you hired me to do,” he says, hating how hot his face feels. It’s a little muffled in Geno’s jacket, but Geno seems to hear him, and pulls back. Sid doesn’t think he imagines the way Geno’s hands linger on Sid’s sleeves, but now that he’s admitted to himself how much emotional trouble he’s in, he’s not sure he can be objective any longer.

 

“Hire, yes.” Geno looks troubled, like maybe he wants to say something else, but can’t quite find the words, and Sid’s not sure what to do with that, so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

 

“Do you want to grab lunch? You must be hungry after practice, and we’ve been at this for a while now.”

 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

He doesn’t know what prompts him to say it, maybe the weird look in Geno’s eyes, maybe the strange giddiness he feels at Geno picking _this_ house - maybe it’s just a side-effect of his stupid crush exploding in his chest. “I only live a few streets over. I could make us sandwiches?”

 

He’s honestly expecting Geno to waffle and politely decline. He’s completely unprepared for Geno’s enthusiastic, “Yes, _perfect_.” He tugs gently on Sid’s sleeve. “Very hungry, let’s go.”

 

They make their way back downstairs and the late afternoon sun streams through the stained glass windows framing the front door. As he locks up, he’s caught up in the patterns the glass makes on the foyer floor and thinks, _perfect_.

 

It’s a short, quiet drive back to Sid’s place, but it’s not uncomfortable like he worried it might be. It feels like something’s changed between them now that Geno’s settled on the house for him, and Sid knows that historically he’s terrible at navigating change when it comes to his relationships. It’s not usually a problem in his professional life, but he’s not sure what “professional” means when it comes to his and Geno’s relationship.

 

He’s never had this kind of close relationship with a client before, not even with the Gonchars who, until Geno, had easily been his favorite clients. But even that had started in a professional capacity and slowly shifted to something like real friendship.

 

Sid’s not sure how to label his relationship with Geno, but “professional” seems disingenuous at best and a lie at worst. He wants it to be so much more.

 

He pulls into the driveway, still lost in his own mind, and he misses the expression on Geno’s face until he whistles, long and low.

 

“Wow, _Sid_. You do all this yourself?”

 

Sid pulls the parking brake and shuts off the engine of the Suburban in a practiced motion. He loves his house, loves the lot and the architecture, and he loves showing it off to people for the very first time. It’s a shame that he doesn’t do it more.

 

“Well, I mean. Not _all_ by myself? I never do any rehab completely alone.” He laughs a little at Geno, who’s hunched forward, looking up at the house. “Come on, you’ll get a better view from out of the car.”

 

Geno slips out of the passenger seat and for a moment, he just stands in the driveway, taking in the front of the house.

 

“My house going to look like this?” He asks, turning to Sid.

 

“Well, not exactly. This place was built in 1926, and yours is like….60 years older and a totally different style -”

 

Geno shoots him an unimpressed look. “ _Sid_.”

 

Sid grins, coming around to stand next to Geno. Years later, and it’s still one of his favorite projects. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I think we could get her up to snuff.” He lets himself tug at Geno’s sleeve this time. “I’ll show you the inside.”

 

“Good. I’m get hungry, and you said you’re cook.”

 

“I did _not_ say anything about cooking,” Sid protests, leading them up the walkway. He fights his natural inclination to immediately given Geno a tour in favor of taking him straight to the kitchen. “Please make yourself at home,” he says, waving a hand towards the breakfast bar. He goes to shift some of Tori’s books and papers to the coffee table, trying not to be embarrassed because he forgets sometimes that his house is a low-key wreck between having an eleven-year old running around and his general work schedule. “Sorry about the mess,” he mutters.

 

Geno slides onto a barstool and grins at him. “Pff, is fine. You have a beautiful house - very lived in, very loved.”

 

Sid does flush at that. “Thank you, Geno. I - that means a lot to me. I worked hard to make it so.”

 

“Can tell.” Geno’s smile is soft, a little fond.

 

They stare at each other for a moment before Sid shakes his head and busies himself with the fridge. “I’ve got turkey or ham - either of those work for you?”

 

“Yes - either, both? I’m not picky eater.”

 

Sid pulls both out, along with his multi-grain bread, cheese, mayo, mustard, lettuce, onion, and part of a tomato he really hopes hasn’t turned yet. Geno makes a yummy noise and Sid gets a couple of plates down. He’s made a million sandwiches it seems like, and he starts on autopilot. “Alright, tell me if there’s anything you don’t want.”

 

“Everything look so good, Sid.”

 

Sid grins a little and starts his tried and true assembly line. “It’s nothing fancy, but they’re not bad.”

 

“I believe. Excited to finally see your house. I’m think Tori’s going to be mad that she miss me, though.”

 

“Oh, god. I didn’t even think about that.” Sid sighs and slathers mayo on the fourth sandwich . “Quick, distract me so I forget about how she’s definitely going to murder me later.”

 

Geno laughs. “Anything for you. Tell me about house. As long as I get tour later, too.”

 

“Of course.” Sid looks up, offended. “There’s no way you’re getting out of a tour, no matter how many dirty clothes are scattered across the upstairs hallway.”

 

“Not-judging tour,” Geno agrees. “This your first house?”

 

“Ah, no. I renovated my first house back in Cole Harbour.” He’s talked about it a thousand times between his show and the execs and magazine and blog articles, but it feels strange, extra personal somehow, to be discussing it like this, with Geno. “Amelia and I bought it when we found out that she was going to have Tori, and it was...god. It was in terrible shape, but it was what we could afford while we were in school and expecting a baby.” He starts adding in the meat. “It was a learning experience, but ultimately, it started all this.”

 

“She..die?” Sid looks up, and Geno’s eyes are soft, curious.

 

He looks away, focusing on his sandwich construction. “Oh, no. We just...we fell out of love? Were never really in the kind of love that lasts forever? I don’t know. We were both so young, and one day we realized that we made better friends than partners. We shared custody of Tori until I moved down here for the show.”

 

“I’m know what that’s like. Not...messy? Just kind of sad.”

 

“Yeah, that’s...pretty much it, exactly.”

 

“Tell me about _this_ house, Sid,” Geno says, barrelling through the awkwardness in a way that Sid has started to believe only Geno can do.

 

“Well, when I moved down here, they already had a property lined up for me, like a test run. Cheddar okay?” Geno nods and Sid starts thinly slicing the cheese. “I brought Tori with me because it was her summer break still and I felt so bad about moving away, and I thought that we could at least you know, take a week and hang while we got everything in order, find an apartment or something for me to rent, and she could feel like she has a stake here.”

 

He’s so focused on getting the slices even that Geno has to clear his throat before Sid remembers where he was. “Ah, right, so. They liked the show? A lot.” He laughs a little. “I guess that’s kind of obvious since I’m still here, but about a year later, they’re ready to go on a new season tell me I’ve gotta pick one this time. The executives gave me a list of houses that they thought I might like, and I thought that this is - this is it and maybe it was time to make things a little more permanent. I had Tori for the summer again, and it seemed like a _sign_ , you know? We went to every single one of those houses together. None of them were right, but we _had_ to have a house lined up.

 

“We ended up driving right by this place, and Tori asked me to stop because she loved the way the fence looked, and there was a ‘For Sale’ sign.” Sid laughs a little, mostly to himself.

 

Geno leans forward in mock-outrage. “You know, then! _First day_ you find house and you tell me it can’t be done.”

 

Sid knows him well enough to know that Geno’s teasing, and he giggles again. “I mean, I basically let my six-year old daughter pick the house I was going to buy and renovate on television, but yep, I’ve definitely been giving you the run around for the last two months, for sure.”

 

“Is okay. I’m know you just want to spend time with me,” Geno says, reaching over to grab a tomato slice.

 

“You caught me,” he says, focusing _very_ intently on stacking the onion because if he looks up at Geno right now, he’s not sure what his face is going to do.

 

“I’m know. Can’t blame you for wanting to spend time with me. I’m best.” He sneaks another tomato slice and salts it before Sid can smack his hand away. “So house is perfect? Has that feeling like house today?”

 

“No, actually. But I did like it and Tori loved it, and it was right up the executives’ alley - something about the whole storyline of it, and you know...I’m really proud of it. It’s grown on me, and it’s something that she and I picked out together, and it ties me to Pittsburgh.” He squirts mustard over top of the sandwiches, and plops down the top piece of bread. Across from him, Geno looks lost in thought, and Sid slides over his two sandwiches.

 

“It’s not quite like I think,” he finally says. “Think maybe is like my house - just perfect fit and you know.”

 

“You want anything to drink? Water, soda, beer?”

 

“Water for now, please. I’m let you feed me beer later.”

 

Sid fills up two glasses and hands one off. He doesn’t sit because sitting would mean squeezing into the breakfast bar next to Geno, and he’s not sure he can deal with that right now. “I think,” he says, “You get really lucky to find a house like we did today. But that feeling isn’t everything. It takes more than that to really make a home, you know? Tori picked the house, and I renovated it, and I lived here, but for almost five years, it was just a house that I liked.” He takes a huge bite out of his sandwich because he’s never really been in a position where he needed to put this in words before, but with Geno - for Geno, he’s going to try.

 

“When Tori came to live with me in January - it started being a home. It’s about the feel of a place, sure, but. It’s more than that. It’s about your family, your friends, how you fill the house up.” Geno takes another bite from his sandwich, but his eyes are still focused on Sid. “I think that’s why I like this so much? Like if I can restore a house to it’s former glory, maybe I can bring back a little bit of what made it a home, too. Give it a chance for a new life.”

 

Geno nods thoughtfully and eats, and Sid’s not sure if he wants Geno to say something, or if they can just pretend none of this happened. He feels his face start to heat and downs half his water in one go as a precautionary measure.

 

“Thank you, Sid,” Geno says quietly, and Sid is caught by gaze. “Is a lot to think about, but...I’m know before but I’m sure now. No other person I want to find me a home.”

 

The water doesn’t help.

 

***

 

By the time they’ve finished eating and Sid’s gotten the kitchen in some semblance of order, it’s time for him to go pick up Tori from school and Sid doesn’t have time to give Geno a real tour.

 

“Can get a cab, Sid. Is fine,” Geno says as Sid tries to get his shoes back on.

 

He looks up, offended. “There is no way I’m letting you take a cab all the way back to Cranberry when I’m the one who picked you up.” He grabs his keys. “Besides, this way Tori can say hi and also maybe refrain from blacklisting me forever.”

 

Geno laughs at that and doesn’t insist on the cab.

 

He does, however, insist on sitting in the backseat. “Shhh, gonna be a big surprise,” he says, tongue poking out. Sid just rolls his eyes and tries not to look in the rearview mirror more than necessary.

 

Geno actually tries to duck down in the backseat when they pull up to the school, and that works for all of five seconds until Tori opens the front door, flings her backpack in, and then spots him slumped over comically.

 

“G -” she starts to shout, then looks over her shoulder, and lowers her volume. “Geno!” He wiggles his fingers at her a little sheepishly, and before Sid can react, she’s slamming the front passenger door and climbing into the backseat to sit with Geno. He makes space for her easily, checking to make sure she’s buckled in before Sid puts the car back in drive.

 

“Hi, Tori,” Sid says, glancing in the rearview. He can’t really blame her for completely ignoring him in the face of Geno, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to remind her.

 

“Hi Dad! Why’s Geno here?”

 

“Your papa is taking me back to my car. We find my new house today!” Geno beams at her.

 

“That’s awesome! I bet it’s going to be the coolest. Where is it?”

 

“It’s close by to your house,” he says, and Sid represses a sigh.

 

“You’re never going to get rid of her now,” he says, signalling to make a right out of the lot.

 

“Does this mean you’re going to come see our house now?”

 

“I’m already see today,” Geno says, and Sid winces from the front seat.

 

The look Tori sends him is full of betrayal. “ _Dad_.”

 

“We needed to eat lunch,” he protests, changing lanes and resisting the urge to lay on the horn.

 

“I can’t believe you invited Geno over without me.”

 

“I’m come back,” Geno says, looking a little flustered, like he hadn’t expected such a strong reaction. “Still need to have tour the Sid promised.”

 

“Daaaaaaad.”

 

“Tori.” He is _not_ going to give in to whatever that tone precedes. He’s not. Especially because he’s pretty sure he already knows.

 

“Dad, can Geno come over for dinner?”

 

“I think we’ve taken up enough of Geno’s time today,” he says.

 

“Well, _you_ did,” she mutters.

 

“Victoria.”

 

She has the sense to at least _look_ contrite, though Sid doubts its sincerity. She’s rarely rude intentionally though, and he doesn’t press her. “Please? Only if Geno wants, of course,” she adds quickly, looking over at Geno with the biggest puppy eyes she can muster.

 

Sid blows out a breath and tries to catch Geno’s eye in the mirror. He’s met with another pair of puppy eyes and a sly grin. “Come on, Sid. I’m be good.”

 

“I’ll give him the tour and everything,” Tori adds in a bid to sweeten the pot.

 

Sid tries to hide his smile as he pulls onto the highway because he knows better than to argue with the both of them _and_ himself. “Alright, but we’re ordering in, and we still have to take Geno to get his car.”

 

***

 

Dinner is...good. Really good in a way that Sid wasn’t anticipating.

 

Geno follows them home and Sid has to rein in the urge to constantly check his rearview mirror - partially because of his nervousness and partially because if he has to see how _close_ Geno is to his bumper, he might lose it.

 

Sid orders them Chinese while Tori absconds with Geno and gives him the much vaunted tour. He _knows_ he’s being ridiculous, but knowledge doesn’t translate into a solution other than repressing the feeling. To that end, he definitely pulls out a couple of beers and goes to find his daughter and his...his...Geno. Whatever.

 

He finds them making the rounds upstairs, Tori proudly pointing out the original fixtures in the hall bathroom. Geno meets his eyes over the top of her head and grins.

 

“Tori knows lots about the house. I’m very impressed!”

 

Tori scoots by him and heads toward her bedroom with single-minded determination, and Sid smiles after her. “I promised you a beer earlier,” he says, turning to Geno, who’s exiting the bathroom. The doorway is a little on the narrow side, the casings lovingly restored to their original wooden glory - he’d never thought they were too small before, but then again, he’s never shared this space with someone with hockey player dimensions. It means that Geno’s practically pressed against him in that liminal space between bathroom and hallway, and Sid’s breath is nowhere to be found.

 

He expects Geno to gently ask him to move, or maybe to try and slide past him and ignore the closeness of the space. How is it possible for someone to be so tall and lanky and yet still _broad_. It’s just not right.

 

Geno carefully plucks his beer bottle out of Sid’s hand, fingers brushing his, and Sid can’t help but look up into Geno’s eyes, warm and brown and -

 

“Geeeeno!”

 

Sid licks dry lips and swallows and doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Geno tracks the motion. “Your tour guide is calling,” he manages.

 

“I’m come, Tori. One minute. You give her assist?” Geno asks, still _right there_.

 

“Maybe, if she needs it.”

 

“She very smart,” Geno agrees. “Thank you for remembering beer.” He clinks the neck of his bottle to Sid’s, and smiles. “Okay, Tori - where are you? I’m get lost!”

 

Sid feels like he’s frozen against the wall, watching as Geno makes his way down the hallway like he knows where he’s going, like he _belongs_. Tori pokes her head out of her bedroom and motions impatiently.

 

“I have a _secret door_ ,” she wheedles, and Geno makes a show of quickening his pace.

 

Sid peels himself off the wall and follows before she can get any ideas about showing Geno _his_ room, too.

 

They’re just finishing up the basement when the doorbell rings and Sid has to hustle up the stairs for their food. It’s a solid spread of their favorites, as well as Geno’s request (beef and broccoli and a double order of crab rangoons), and Sid’s kind of banking on having leftovers for at least Tori for the next day or two.

 

He briefly contemplates setting the dining room table, but Tori’s already taking her food into the living room and Geno’s following her, and Sid is pretty sure he’s out of fight when it comes to them both. He clears the coffee table off, putting the papers _back_ on the breakfast bar, and tries not to judge himself too harshly. It’s been a long day and he’s weak for whatever it is that’s happening in his home right now.

 

Tori turns on the pregame for the Devils/Lightning game starting at 7:00, and settles herself on the floor, in easy reach of all the takeout containers. Sid scoots Geno’s order closer to him and pops back into the kitchen for serving spoons and napkins, just in time to see Tori spearing a piece of broccoli out of Geno’s container.

 

“Victoria! That’s Geno’s dinner, did you ask before helping yourself?”

 

She startles, broccoli halfway to her mouth. “I thought it was up for grabs like everything else - I just wanted to try it!”

 

“Geno is company and you need to ask before you take his dinner.”

 

She’s already turning, looking genuinely upset, like maybe she forgot that Geno _is_ a guest, that he’s a famous athlete and a client, not one of Sid’s few non-work friends. “I’m sorry, Geno. I didn’t think about it. I can...put it back?”

 

He almost feels bad for saying something when Geno hadn’t, but he still feels like there are some boundaries he needs to cling to. For his own sake, if for no one else’s. Geno mostly just looks confused.

 

“You - is okay, I’m not mind. Please eat.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sid says, as much to Tori as to Geno. He sits gingerly down on the couch. “We usually just get a few things and eat a little bit of everything - I didn’t think to mention that I’d ordered you something just for you. Thank you for apologizing, Tori. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

 

“Is okay, Sid. I’m - sharing is good? I like little bit of everything, don’t mind you eat my beef and broccoli,” Geno says. Almost to prove his point, he scoops some of his container straight onto Tori’s plate, and some onto Sid’s before he can say anything else.

 

“Are you sure?” He asks anyway because Sid’s not above shoving it back into Geno’s container. “Please don’t feel obligated - I should have mentioned it earlier - you’re a guest -” He cuts himself off, recognizing the mulish look on Geno’s face.

 

“Sure, Sid.” He grabs some of the sweet and sour chicken, like a challenge. “Is not -” He frowns a little, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t want to be guest,” he says after a moment. “Friends...are not guests.”

 

Sid sucks in a breath. “I - of course. You’re always welcome here,” he says.

 

“Good.” Geno’s eyes are impossibly warm as he looks at Sid. He knocks his beer against Sid’s again. “Especially since I’m live so close now.”

 

“Well, we still have to get you that house. And it’s going to take a while.”

 

“I’m trust you, Sid. You know this already.”

 

Sid takes a sip of his beer and smiles. He catches Tori looking back between them with an unreadable expression on her face, and he’s not sure if she’s picking up on...whatever weird vibe is going on and ignoring it, or if she’s just curious as to why they aren’t all eating yet.

 

Sid grabs a couple of crab rangoons in response.

 

***

 

Tori heads up to bed to read once the Lightning have pulled ahead, 6-3. She gives Geno a hug and Sid can _just_ hear her whisper, “Thank you” in Geno’s ear. She hugs him next, extra hard, and he squeezes her tight.

 

“Do you want me to come tuck you in?” Sid asks.

 

“Daaad,” she hisses. “I’m not a little kid. I’m okay, I promise.”

 

Sid sighs. “You know you’re always going to be my little girl, right?”

 

“ _Dad_!” She steals a mortified glance at Geno, who is very studiously watching the talking heads on the NBCSN Intermission Report.

 

“Alright, squirt. Good night, I love you. I won’t embarrass you anymore,” he promises, kissing the top of her head.

 

She squirms out of his arms and races up the stairs.

 

Sid shakes his head. “I’m going to put up the leftovers if you’re done?” he says.

 

Geno pats his stomach and grins. “Feed me up good, Sid. I’m surprise there’s still food.”

 

Sid surveys the wreckage. “We did do some damage.” He grins at Geno, who gets up off the couch and grabs a couple of empty containers.

 

Geno cracks open two more beers while they’re in the kitchen cleaning, sliding one across the counter to Sid. Together, they make short work of it, and they’re back in front of the couch by the time the 3rd period starts.

 

Sid doesn’t mean to have as many beers as he does, and he doesn’t think Geno does either, but whenever they finish one, either he or Geno gets up for another round, and once the Devils game finishes, they start watching the Sharks. Geno makes no move to leave, though Sid knows he’s got a travel day tomorrow, and he feels like maybe he ought to bring it up, but he’s just tipsy enough to give into his selfish side.

 

Instead, he nudges Geno’s knee with his own. “Thanks,” he says.

 

Geno’s slumped against the back of the couch, and he he turns his head. “For what?”

 

“For helping with the food? For being so good with Tori, for…” _For being here, for everything_ , he wants to say. Instead he just shrugs a little. “It’s - you don’t have to, and I appreciate it.”

 

Geno’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that Sid thinks they’re done, that he falls back into watching the game.

 

“I’m think when we get divorce that everything would be better. Is hard choice - I’m love Anna, love Nikita, but she not happy, I’m not happy - “

 

“Not messy, just sad,” Sid whispers, and he can’t look away from Geno’s face.

 

“When I ask about house, Sergei tells me what a good guy you are - so smart, nice, skilled, and I think what a good way to start over. Contract in Pittsburgh up next year, getting old.” He laughs a little. “Media here - I love Pittsburgh, but is like they always looking for something. I think with divorce -” Geno wobbles his hand back and forth.

 

Sid sucks in a breath. “That’s...ridiculous. It has nothing to do with your commitment to the team - you have the C, you’re - Jesus, Geno. You’re the backbone of the Penguins,” he says, trying to keep his voice down.

 

Geno’s smile is small, but fond. “I’m think I buy house, show commitment, show divorce doesn’t matter. Maybe help with contract? Maybe not, but I get new old house, is like a piece of Pittsburgh for me and for Nikita, just for us.”

 

“He stays with Anna mostly?” Sid asks, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

 

“He still so young, and I’m away all the time. Anna moved to Miami - I’m see sometimes when we go to play Panthers, in the summer.” Sid feels like he can’t look away as Geno talks, his voice getting increasingly rough. “I’m miss him so much, Sid.”

 

And that - he’ll never forget the discussions he and Amelia had about separating, the decision he made to move to Pittsburgh - the indecision, the guilt, feeling like he was being selfish and irresponsible every time he missed a hockey game or a school function. Sid reaches out instinctively, wanting to offer comfort in the face of his inability to _fix_ the problem, and grips Geno’s leg.

 

“I know, G. I’m...I’m so sorry. I know how much it hurts.” He squeezes, and Geno just...slumps against him.

 

“Sid - “ He can feel Geno says his name, and he stops breathing for a moment. “You more than some guy I hire, you know? Is important you know...I’m want more than business.” Sid’s chest feels tight, heart thundering in his chest as Geno continues. “I see you’re best at work, yes, but so much more. So smart with hockey, funny. You’re best dad, Tori so happy, I’m think.”

 

He doesn’t know what to do with any of that - he _wants_ to lean down and kiss Geno more than anything else - he’s a little tipsy, but he’s not _drunk_ and he doesn’t think Geno is, either. What he does instead is rest his cheek on top of Geno’s head. “I don’t think I’m very good at it, sometimes. But we do the best we can.”

 

“I’m want to be as good a dad as you are,” Geno whispers.

 

Sid closes his prickling eyes. “You already are,” he says, lips brushing against the warmth of Geno’s forehead.

 

***

 

Sid’s bladder wakes him up around 1:00 am, and he spends a long moment disoriented because he’s not in his bed and he’s definitely curled up with someone else. His mouth is fuzzy and his neck hurts, and _oh_ , that’s Geno snoring gently against him. He doesn’t want to disturb him, but he’s really got to pee, and there is no way he’s going to let Geno keep sleeping on the couch when he’s got a game coming up.

 

The TV’s still on, and it highlights the jut of Geno’s nose, the curve of his eyelashes, the softness of his lips where he’s snoring away on Sid’s chest.

 

“G? Geno?” He whispers it, shifting again in the hopes that the movement will wake him up.

 

Those lashes flutter, and Geno squints up at him. “Sid?”

 

“Hey, G.”

 

“Time?” He mumbles, still mostly asleep.

 

“1:00ish. I gotta get up, and you need to either get your own bed, or take one of my spares.”

 

Geno grumbles wordlessly and yawns. Sid wants to kiss him just like this every morning he can. It’s not as startling a revelation as it might be in the light of the day. Here, in the dim light of his living room, curled up together, it seems like just another fact.

 

“I’m up,” he says after a moment, still draped mostly over Sid.

 

“Liar,” Sid says. He gently shoves at Geno until he finally starts moving. “C’mon. I gotta pee.”

 

“Fine, fine, pushy. I’m up.”

 

“You want to stay?” Sid asks, leveraging himself upright.

 

Geno scrubs at his eyes, and stretches. “No, have to fly out tomorrow.” He looks over at Sid and smiles a little. “Wish I could stay.” It’s a soft admission, one that fills Sid’s chest with hope.

 

“Me too,” he ventures. Geno’s smile widens, too bright for this late. He stands, groaning and little and holds his hand out. Sid lets himself be pulled upright. “You’re good to drive?”

 

“I’m fine, Sid. Have a nice little nap.”

 

“If you’re sure.”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“Alright, I’ll walk you out.” Sid stumbles a little behind Geno, who laughs quietly as he steadies him. Geno shoves his shoes on, and Sid yawns, trying to ignore his bladder for a little while longer.

 

“Go back to sleep, Sid,” Geno says at the door.

 

“I will. Text me when you get home?”

 

“Okay.”

 

They’re both in the doorway, and Geno’s smiling at him from the front step, almost at eye-level for once. Later, Sid will blame it on his exhaustion, on it being 1:00 in the morning and so terribly, wonderfully domestic, but when he leans forward and kisses Geno, Geno kisses back.

 

It’s quick, familiar, and when they pull apart, they’re both smiling like idiots.

 

“Good night, Sid,” Geno says, and he steps back reluctantly, like if he doesn’t he’s going to head right back inside the house.

 

Sid licks his lips. “Night, G.”

 

He watches from the doorway until Geno’s in the car and has backed onto the street, and then he shuts and locks the door, and goes to finally use the bathroom.

 

He looks in on Tori as he heads towards his own bed. She’s sprawled out, covers kicked all over the place, and he smiles a little because the more things change, the more they stay the same. He tugs up the covers, lightly tucking them in, and he presses a kiss to her head again.

 

“I love you, sweetheart,” he says.

 

She shifts a little, curling into the blankets, and mumbles something that might be, “I love you, too.”

 

***

 

When he wakes up in the morning, there’s a text from Geno:

 

_Home safe. Miss you on trip ((_

 

_Glad you made it,_ he types. It’s Saturday, and he’s earned a little bit of a late start, and he’s hoping that he’s not waking up Geno. _I’ll get started on the paperwork today. Safe travels._ Last night - this morning - feels almost like a dream. Sid bites his lip and hopes it wasn’t as he adds, _I miss you, too._

 

He’s not expecting Geno to respond as quickly as he does. _Morning Sid. Can’t wait for house!_

 

_Do you have a price you want me to start at?_

 

_Cheap!!!!!!_

 

_That it? Just cheap?_

 

_Trust you <3 _

 

_Okay._ Sid can’t stop smiling at his phone, and it’s objectively ridiculous. He taps out, _ <3 _ before flinging his phone across the bedspread and forcing himself out of bed and into the shower.

 

In a surprising twist, Tori’s already awake and downstairs when he makes it downstairs. He checks his watch again, because he didn’t think it was _that_ late, but it appears that she’s just up early.

 

“Sleep well, kiddo?” He asks, getting the coffee pot started.

 

“Yeah, it was okay.” She pushes around the cereal in her bowl. “Did Geno stay over last night?” She asks after a pause.

 

She doesn’t seem upset or excited, just curious, and for a moment, he’s not sure how to answer. “Sort of,” he says eventually. “Promise you won’t make fun of me for being old?”

 

“What? I mean, _no_ , never.”

 

Sid rolls his eyes a little. “Uh-huh. Well, Geno and I fell asleep on the couch watching the Sharks game -”

 

“Because you’re old,” Tori says, grinning.

 

“... _Yes_. Because we’re old. We woke up around one and he went home, so. Sort of, but not really.”

 

“Do you think he’ll stay over again?”

 

“I - I don’t know, squirt.”

 

She makes a _hmm_ noise and goes back to eating her cereal, and Sid honestly isn’t sure what just happened with that conversation, but he’s got beer bottles to clean up while his coffee brews, and he busies himself with that.

 

Once he’s gotten coffee and food in him, he leaves Tori to her devices in the living room with a quick hug and holes himself up in his office.

 

Michelle answers on the fifth ring with, “So how’d you like the house?”

 

It’s the exact kind of abrupt he’s come to expect from her - she’s 100% sugar and light with clients, and a complete nightmare with buyers. He may not always like it, but he respects it. He also maybe enjoys yanking her chain just a little. “Good morning, Michelle. Did you have a good Friday?”

 

Michelle doesn’t bother covering her sigh. “Good _morning_ , Sidney. It was nice, thank you. How was yours.”

 

Sid grins up at the ceiling, glad that she can’t see him. “It was lovely! Also, my client would like to make an offer on the house.”

 

“Now we’re talking. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, asking price is $990,000.”

 

“I know the lot’s okay and all, but that’s a little steep with the amount of work that needs to be put in that place.”

 

“The lot is probably the most valuable part of the listing,” Michelle counters. “At least $400,000.”

 

“We could do $400,000,” Sid offers. “That’s well over comps.”

 

“And how much for the house?”

 

“I thought the lot was the valuable part,” he says. He hears Michelle gearing up on the other end of the line and adds, “But we could do 100k for the house, too.”

 

“So your client’s offer is $500,000 for a house that’s currently listed at just under a million dollars?”

 

“The house has been on the market for almost ten months; I think it’s a fair price for what my client would be getting.”

 

“He’d be getting a brand new home in a neighborhood with very few vacancies. Don’t think I don’t know that you’re going to be renovating that place yourself, Sidney.”

 

“That’s still months and months of my client paying for two mortgages, plus the reno costs which will be _extensive_.”

 

“Sidney, you know that’s not my problem.”

 

He chuckles. ‘You can’t blame me for trying.”

 

“$850,000.”

 

“Ridiculous. 550.”

 

They counter back and forth, but Sid knows what that lot is worth, and he holds firm. He understands Michelle’s perspective, he’s been there himself, but Geno’s trusting him to get this house at a price that isn’t going to break the bank. He’s already got a list of stuff that’s going to need to be done.

 

“$755,900. And we’ll handle closing costs. Not one cent less.” It sounds like it physically pains her to say, and despite his low-ball effort, it’s a better deal than he was anticipating.

 

“Done.”

 

***

 

Geno plays a back-to-back against Chicago and St. Louis over the next couple of days. Sid works on getting the paperwork together now that they’ve agreed on a price. By the time Geno gets back on Tuesday, jet-lagged but victorious, Sid’s got everything ready to be signed to put the house under contract.

 

They meet that evening over dinner, and Geno immediately pulls Sid into a hug before they sit.

 

“Sid,” he says, a little breathless.

 

Sid smiles up at him. “Welcome back.” He doesn’t say _I missed you_ , but he doesn’t feel like he needs to.

 

Geno signs the papers once they’re seated, and Sid shoves them into his coat pocket. Tucked away in a corner booth, their legs tangle together underneath the table, and Geno orders a bottle of wine to celebrate.

 

Before last week, Sid would have assumed it was just Geno being Geno - friendly, exuberant - but still ultimately a business transaction. Now, if the cost of that bottle of wine and the looks Geno keeps giving him are any indication, Sid’s pretty positive this is a date.

 

They probably ought to discuss it in earnest - they both have some baggage, and the kids, and - there’s a lot to think about. But for now, he’s content to play footsie under the table, and maybe get a kiss after dinner. It’s the closest to a Real Date he’s had since he and Amelia divorced.

 

Instead, they talk about the games, about Geno’s three point night in St. Louis and the powerplay in Chicago. They talk about what Geno wants to do with the house, and he leans in and listens intently when Sid talks about what he’s already sketched out.

 

They bicker over the check, and Geno resorts to holding it out of Sid’s reach until their wait staff comes to grab it, grinning the whole time and Sid’s palpable frustration but unwillingness to make a scene.

 

“I’m getting the next one,” he mutters, and Geno just grins.

 

“Good idea.”

 

Geno walks him out to the Suburban afterwards, March air just crisp enough that Geno huddles in his jacket and moves quickly. He still waits relatively patiently, leaning against the side of the car, until Sid catches up. He thinks then about inviting Geno back to the house, about how it’s still early enough that he could go back to Geno’s and still be home before Tori needs to go to bed.

 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he muscles into Geno’s space and says, “You look cold,” because it’s the smoothest line he can think of. It’s worth it for the way Geno tugs him closer and muffles his laugh against Sid’s lips.

 

It’s kind of perfect.

 

***

 

The Penguins get bounced out of the playoffs in the second round. Geno takes it hard, but Sid likes to think not as badly as he has in years past. He’s maybe a little biased though. He and Tori have been trying to distract him with home cooked dinners and board games, movies, and binging old episodes of X-Files because Tori found out that Geno had never seen it.

 

Anna swings by Pittsburgh on her way to Russia, bringing Nikita and the Florida sunshine with her. What X-Files and steak and beer doesn’t cure, seeing his son again does. Tori seems almost as taken with Nikita as Geno is, and decides that she’s going to teach him how to skate. Sid tries not to feel weird about being introduced as the boyfriend, but...that’s what they are, and objectively it’s still surreal and amazing in equal parts.

 

On May 20th, they finally pick up the keys to the house. Sid’s been researching the house since they put it under contract, and he’s started calling it the Halfway House. He’s so ready to get started it’s ridiculous, and beside him, Nikita in his arms, Geno’s practically vibrating with excitement. Tori looks like she’s about to try and kick down the door.

 

“Alright, here we go,” Sid says. He turns the key and looks over his shoulder. “Welcome home, Mr. Malkin.”

 

Geno’s smile is electric and Sid can feel it in his bones. “How many times I’m tell you -”

 

“At least once more, G,” Sid says.

 

“Tell you everyday if I have to.” It’s a promise that Sid can’t wait for Geno to keep.

 

Sidney honks out a laugh and pushes the door open. “Be careful going in - it’s safe, but there’s all sorts of stuff to trip over.” Tori’s already inside, Geno and Nikita right behind her. Sid follows, and he can already see the house - the _home_ \- underneath all the dust and grime ready to be revealed.

 

Later in the week, Geno will have his contract negotiations, and Sid will start fighting with the city about permits. He’s got to get Tori fitted for new gear and make sure that his house is toddler-proof, and maybe they’re not a family yet, but. Sid can see the bones of something amazing here, too.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I have so much more I want to do with this AU, and hopefully I will get to it. I only wish time and life had given me a little more leeway <3 Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!


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